


Oneupmanship

by Whytejigsaw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bets, Crack, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whytejigsaw/pseuds/Whytejigsaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Nocturnias's prompt: Molly is better than Sherlock at many things. He not pleased. Challenges ensue. Pre-sherlolly to begin with. Betaed by Thinkswithpen. Slighted cracked!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wii Fit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocturnias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/gifts).



Post TRF: Sherlock is hiding out at Molly’s.

 

Sherlock stared at the small white rectangular platform in front of Molly’s TV. What was it for? Of course, she was gone to work now and he couldn’t ask. He took a closer look. It was wired into the back of a games console. A Nintendo Wii. Reaching for the internet, Sherlock quickly had his answer. A combination games console and fitness tool. He could see the merits of it. Once his ankle was healed up, he might even have a go. When Molly wasn’t here, of course.

A week passed and Sherlock was more bored than he could ever have imagined possible. He’d give anything for a case. Even a missing cat would do. But at least his injuries were nicely recovered. 

Molly was well and truly sick of Sherlock’s moaning. She thought she was prepared for close-up bored Sherlock but he had transcended bored and morphed into something only vaguely human. It had done wonders for her sometime-crush – knocking the corners right off the pedestal she usually had him on. Molly had actually begun making notes about Sherlock – mainly, so some day John and she could get really drunk complaining about him.

“Friday: Sherlock rearranged all my socks and tights. No sense of personal boundaries. They’re colour-coded! It does look pretty though.”

Sherlock flounced out of the bathroom in his dressing gown and flopped down in an armchair. Molly looked up from her book, reading glasses perched on her nose.

“Oh dear, are you bored again, Sherlock?” she said, not at all sympathetic.

“Yes. I need something.”

“What you need is to burn off energy. It’s a pity you can’t go for a run or something. Oh!” something clearly dawned on her.

“What is it?” Sherlock leapt off the couch and leaned over her.

Molly leaned back against the couch, mentally noting “no personal space boundaries either”.

“The Wii Fit.”

Sherlock looked dubiously at the white platform.

“I don’t think so, Molly. Not really my thing.”

“Afraid I’ll beat you?”

“I thought it was just for exercise?”

“Oh it is, but you can make it competitive. I’m sure I’d kick your ass,” she said, slowly enunciating the last three words. Her whole demeanour said “challenge extended.”

“I’ll get dressed,” he said.

A few minutes later, Sherlock re-emerged wearing jeans and t-shirt. Even he had had to admit that lolling around in designer suits was pointless, at least for now. Molly was already in comfortable clothes.

She had started up the Wii.

“Okay, first, we’ll program in your stats and design you an avatar, which is called a “mii”. Stand on the platform.”

“Why?”

“It’s going to weigh you, and test your balance.”

Sherlock stood on the scales.

“Only 80 kilos! No wonder you’re so skinny. Do you ever eat at all, Sherlock?” asked Molly.

“Of course I do – just not as often as most people. I’m hardly ever hungry.”

“I’m surprised you got away so lightly with your roof jump with so little padding. There, that’s you all programmed in.”

Sherlock regarded his “mii” which Molly had designed with curly black hair and a scarf in running shorts. His “mii” announced that his Wii Fit age was 43.

“43! But that’s 10 years older than I actually am!” he said, horrified.

“It takes your stats into account and based on your balance, etc, works it out. My Wii Fit age is 31,” said Molly, proud that it matched her actual age, but not admitting it had taken several months to get it to that level.

“What now?”

“We do exercise – it’s simple, you follow the instructions on the screen. We’ll take turns. The first class is step aerobics.”

“I’m not doing aerobics.”

“I’ll go first, you giant baby. No one but me will see you. And if you want, you can practice when I’m not here. Now, I just want warn you: I’m going to be better at this than you. I’ve had it a year. More games and challenges are unlocked for me.”

Molly stood up and followed the aerobics program for 2 minutes. Sherlock thought she looked ridiculous. A graphical representation of little miis clapped along on screen. She snorted aloud when he remarked as much.

“Wait until you have to do hula-hooping for two minutes without a real hoop! There’s nothing funnier.”

Despite this assertion, Molly got a great laugh watching Sherlock attempt basic aerobic steps like the grapevine and side steps. By the end of it, Sherlock was a bit out of breath.

Molly composed herself.

“Oh thanks, I really needed that laugh.”

Sherlock pouted.

“You can keep practicing. Let’s do yoga now.”

Molly was excellent at yoga. Sherlock could see that she had obviously been doing it some time. The onscreen personal trainer shouted encouraging comments in an irritating fashion. Sherlock was going to be turning that off.

To her surprise though, Sherlock wasn’t bad at yoga.

“I once had to infiltrate a class for a case – ended up doing ashtanga for 10 weeks.”

“Why didn’t you keep it up?”

“Boring.”

“Typical you. If you had, you might have been able to beat me in this round.”

Sherlock privately agreed. Effort would be required.

oOo  
After Molly went to work the following day, Sherlock fired up the Wii. He resolved to use it every day for week and then challenge Molly to a rematch. Starting off with jogging to warm up, he was surprised to see Molly’s avatar ahead of him. Gah, even when she wasn’t here, she taunted him. He sped up a bit but never seemed to catch her. His onscreen personal trainer “John” shouted that a steady pace was better.

A few days into his regime he managed to unlock some new challenges and soon found that the hula-hooping was quite as ridiculous as Molly had suggested. This game, he decided, would definitely not be in the challenge.

The following Saturday morning, Sherlock was ready.

“Er, Molly, shall we have a go on the Wii? You haven’t had a chance to play with it all week – wouldn’t like you to get unfit.”

Molly gave him a bemused look.

“Been practicing, have you?”

“Maybe.”

“Alright, let me change into better clothes.”

As Molly walked into her bedroom, she wondered whether she could do anything further to ensure victory…though it seemed hardly likely that he’d have practiced enough in a mere week. Still…a little distraction wouldn’t hurt: after all, he was a man.

Molly came back to the main room, Sherlock looked up and found he was unable to keep his jaw from hanging open. She was wearing short exercise shorts and a matching vest top in green and black. Her legs were bare and ended in neat trainers. This was a far cry from her frumpy work attire and left very little to the imagination. Not that he was imagining…not that he needed to….oh crap, say something, you idiot.

“Does your mother let you out of the house like that?” was his surprising rejoinder to her silent assault.

Molly smiled. “My mother hasn’t had any say in my clothes for quite some time….now, let’s get on with this. I’ve things to do later.”

Sherlock stood on the platform and was pleased to see Molly’s reaction to his Wii Fit age, now reduced to 38.

“Oh well done, you’ve knocked a few years off,” she said, fairly.

Half an hour later though, a smug Molly sat on the couch, while a displeased Sherlock stood beside the games console. 

“Don’t worry, Sherlock, you’ll beat me next time.”

He did not reply. Losing was not his strongest suit.

Molly was emboldened by this display.

“You know, I bet I could beat you at lots of things.”

Sherlock snorted at her derisively.

“I doubt that, Molly.”

“Do you really? Sure, you’ve got me beat on reading people’s love lives in their shoe laces but do really think that you, a college dropout, could be beat me, a doctor, at everything?”

“Of course,” he said, arrogantly.

“We’ll see. What would you say to a little challenge?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“We’ll test out the theory, I’ll beat you, and you’ll have to do things for me.”

“What kind of things?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know.”

“Alright then. What will I get when I beat you?”

“We’ll come to a mutually appropriate arrangement.”

“Deal,” he said, extending his hand to shake on it. A little diversion like this was exactly what he needed.


	2. Cooking

People often eat when they are bored. Sherlock was bored. He poked around the kitchen and ate some cereal. When Molly came home from work, tired and hungry, an idea occurred to him. 

“You know, Molly, I could cook dinner for us in the evenings. It’s not like I’m doing anything much during the day. If you buy the groceries, that is.”

Molly was surprised to see him be so helpful.

“Is this your way of saying you don’t like my cooking?”

“Not at all, but I am saying I can do better.”

“Oh, so this is a challenge then?”

“Well, it wasn’t at first, but now that you mention it….”

“What are the stakes this time?”

“I want my violin.”

“Sherlock! How could I possibly get that for you? John will notice it’s gone. Besides, I’m meant to be living alone. What will my neighbours think if my empty flat suddenly starts playing music during the day?”

“Your neighbours will be too wrapped up in their petty little lives to even notice. Your next door neighbour is having an affair with the woman down the hall.”

“Really? Margaret? How do you know?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, already bored of the gossip.

“So do we have a deal?”

“Wait, what do I get if you’re not better than me?”

“I’ll stop moaning for a week.”

“Ha! I doubt you’d be able. But fine, make me a list of ingredients. I’ll cook tomorrow and you can cook on Friday.”

“Fine.”

Sherlock took over Molly’s laptop to help him decide what dinner he would cook. Occasionally, he would clarify items.

“Do you prefer red or white wine?”

“White.”

“Do you like mushrooms?”

“No!”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Oysters. What about you?”

“Nothing I know of.”

He prepared a list of ingredients and other items to be purchased.

“I don’t see you making a list for tomorrow, Molly. Don’t you need to prepare?”

“It’s all in my head. I don’t need a recipe book.”

The following day, Molly left work early and did the food shopping. She shopped for her dinner and Sherlock’s. She’d decided to make a classic steak and onions dish with potato gratin and red wine to accompany it. This was a dinner she’d made many times and it was always a success. Of course, usually she made it when she was trying to score points with her dinner companion. It had also proved an excellent third date at home meal. But she wasn’t going to tell Sherlock that!  
Once she was home, she started cooking straight away. Molly could hear the shower going so Sherlock was out of the way for a while. She settled into the kitchen, opening the wine to breathe, and then having a glass to ease the cooking.

Sherlock finished his shower, and hearing Molly was home, headed into the kitchen, as unselfconscious as usual.

“Ah, you got started I see.”

“Yes, your stuff’s in the fridge,” she said without turning around. “Do you want some wine now?”

She turned around to be greeted with the still-awesome (she could not believe she got to see this on a regular basis) sight of Sherlock with only a towel wrapped around his waist, freshly-shaved and his hair still wet, curling into its natural state. After admiring for a second or two, she added.

“You might want to get dressed before we eat.”

“Why? Am I bothering you?”

“No, of course not, you’ll get cold though. The food will be ready in 15 minutes.”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Whatever.”

Molly let out a sigh when he left the room. He might be the most irritating man in her life but he was also still irritatingly gorgeous. It was made all the worse by him knowing the effect he had on her. 

He reappeared, now mercifully fully clothed. 

“Just in time,” said Molly.

“What are we eating?”

“Steak, red peppers, onions and potato gratin, with red wine.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Molly grinned, knowing full well that it would be.

Sherlock sat down and made a start. It occurred to him that dinner in Molly’s flat like was like a date…red wine…really delicious food…she’d clearly made this before. 

“So tell me, Molly, how many men have succumbed to your charms after consuming this dinner?”

“Ah, what are you talking about?”

“This is really excellent food….isn’t there some saying about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach? I presume you’ve tested this theory extensively. Hence my question…how many men?”

“Sherlock! Are you asking me how many men I’ve slept with?” Molly giggled, aided by her second glass of wine.

“No,” he replied, genuinely baffled, “just how many dates at home cooking this meal, which may or may not have led to other activities?”

“A few…and before you ask, I never made it for Jim.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that!”

“But anyway, you admit that I am a superior cook and want to concede before you even try tomorrow?”

“Not at all. I merely allowed you to go first so I could see what I was up against.”

“Cheeky,” she said, reaching out and pinching his cheek, which was nicely flushed from the heat of the kitchen and the wine.

“So if this were a date, what would be your next move?” asked Sherlock.

“You don’t want to hear that…”

“I really do…come on, Molly, I’m stuck here, bored out of my tree, entertain me a little. I’m sure dating is an area where you’d have an edge over me.”

“Undoubtedly. Well, at this stage, I’d probably suggest we take our desserts and wine into the main room and curl up on the couch.”

“There’s dessert too?”

“Yes, it’s just fruit salad and ice cream – no time for baking when I’ve been at work.”

“Alright then, I’ll take the wine.”

Molly took out the fruit salad and the slightly melted real vanilla icecream.

“Let me guess…you’d only bring one spoon.”

Molly whirled around. “How did you know that?!”

He shrugged. “It seemed like an obvious move.”

Molly stomped into the sitting room with two bowls and slammed down two spoons on the coffee table.

“I see you’re upset because I deduced correctly. There’s no need to be. You know I figure out these things easily. It’s one of the reasons why I would be a terrible boyfriend.”

“You’ve got that right,” muttered Molly. She took up her dessert and tucked in, while grabbing the remote control. It was time for Eastenders anyway.

Sherlock ate his dessert in silence, not quite sure what had happened. One thing was clear though, the competition part of the evening was over.

oOo

Molly was up and out the door early the next day, still a little miffed at Sherlock for mocking her tried and tested date plan. It wasn’t like she was trying to seduce him! 

Sherlock heard her leave and decided to get up. His dinner plans were a lot more involved than Molly’s had been, and he’d never cooked this particular meal before. After hearing her comment on baking, he wondered whether he should attempt a dessert as well. Where was Mrs Hudson when he needed her? He looked through the cupboards but decided that baking was out of the question. Hmm…but getting a bakery to deliver something was not. 

By the time Molly came home, the flat was filled with delicious smells. Sherlock had gone all out to win this time. The main room was clear of detritus and he’d set the dining table nicely with matching plates and utensils. 

“Wow, the place hasn’t looked this tidy since before you moved in!” commented Molly.

“Why don’t you go and change – we’re eating in about an hour,” said Sherlock.

“Perfect…smells good too.”

Molly rarely had someone else cook for her: it was a massive treat, even Sherlock’s motives were not completely honest.

She took a quick shower and changed into comfy clothes, leaving her hair down.

“Alright, what are we eating?”

“It’s an Italian dish with sausage meat and onions in a white wine cream sauce.”

“Yum.”

“Just sit down and I’ll bring it out.”

Sherlock poured white wine into their glasses and hurried back to the kitchen to bring out the serving dish. He doled it out and sat down, watching Molly’s reaction.

“Oh, it looks good.”

“You can eat it too!”

She speared a piece of pasta and put it in her mouth.

“That is divine. Wow. Is it double-cream?”

Sherlock threw her a massive grin.

“Yes…double cream, reduced in the white wine. Do you like it?”

“I love it…stop talking, it’s time to eat.”

Molly had rarely enjoyed any food quite so much. Sherlock had rarely enjoyed watching someone else eat quite so much. The little noises she made as she chewed and swallowed were a delight. She ran her finger around the plate to clear it and popped it in her mouth, sucking the remainder of sauce off. It was positively sinful to watch, thought Sherlock….this wine is really getting to me.

“Sherlock, I have to hand it to you…that was like a food orgasm.”

Tipsy Molly was always bolder.

“So you’re saying I win then?”

“No. I’m saying it was like having an orgasm.”

“And me giving you orgasms isn’t winning?”

Molly giggled. “Well, you would definitely win with real orgasms, not that it would be the first time…” she managed to stop herself before the rest of the sentence left her alcohol-loosened tongue.

“Not the first time?” He raised an eyebrow.

Poor Molly could feel her cheeks flushing.

“Are you saying that you think about me when you….?” Even Sherlock couldn’t quite bring himself to say “masturbate” out loud.

Molly recovered her ability to speak and change the subject.

“Fine, you win this one.”

Sensing that they should move away from the dangerous line of questioning, he rubbed his hands together.

“Great…do you want your dessert now?”

“There’s dessert too?” she said, echoing his surprise from the previous night.

“Yes, the bakery near you delivers…baking is not my forte.”

“The Italian place? They make this fantastic thing called Torte della Nonna….”

“That is what we’re having.”

“Wow. I think I might love you, Sherlock. You are allowed to cook all the time from now on.”

“Winning is quite sufficient, thank you very much.”

As Sherlock went to retrieve the dessert, he was really tempted to just bring in one spoon but he managed to shake it off. There was no room for messing about with emotions when he had a master criminal’s network to take down. He did, however, have some ideas about the next thing he was going to beat her at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some help from Mr Ryan Gosling with dialogue in the first dinner scene!


	3. Drinking Games

Molly sat curled in her favourite armchair, absently stroking Toby while reading a book. A glass of whiskey sat on the wooden arm of the chair and she sipped at it periodically.

Sherlock sat opposite her, ostensibly doing some online research but sneaking glances at Molly every so often.

“Have you always been a whiskey drinker?” he asked eventually.

Molly looked up, startled, as though she had forgotten his presence.

“For a few years, yes, but I don’t drink it a lot. I have to be in the mood for it. Did you want some?” She gestured towards the bottle on the table between them.

Sherlock nodded and got up to get himself a glass. He didn’t indulge much but now stuck in Molly’s home, he found he was drinking when she was – wine with dinner, and now whiskey.

“You should just sip it, you won’t have much tolerance for such a strong drink,” cautioned Molly.

“I am more than capable of holding my alcohol.”

“Really? Care to make a little wager on it?” Molly was still smarting from losing the dinner round. She glanced over at his violin. She hadn’t had to sneak it out in the end. She visited John on the pretext of seeing how he was. While there, she alluded to the violin, got all upset and then asked if she could have it to remember him by. Ever the gentleman, John acquiesced. Sherlock had been suitably impressed, although in truth, John was a sucker for a pretty woman, especially one in tears.

Sherlock considered the challenge and nodded his agreement.

“What are the stakes this time?”

“No stakes, just truth or drink.”

“Explain.”

“I ask you a question, you answer it truthfully or you take a drink.”

“And then I ask you one.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go first,” said Sherlock.

Molly nodded her approval.

“How many men has that dinner worked on?”

Ha, it seemed he was still interested in that subject.

“That particular dinner? 5. My turn,” she continued. “Did you sleep with Irene Adler?”

“No. I considered it though.”

She was surprised – she had never found out how he could identify her body, but frankly, if he hadn’t slept with her, it didn’t matter.”

“Why did you become a pathologist?”

“My mother died when I was young…it gave me an early fascination with death.” Molly decided to up the ante a little.

“How do you think John will react when discovers you’re not dead?”

Sherlock stared directly at her and his glass rose to touch his lips.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Molly felt a momentary pang of guilt until Sherlock decided to follow suit and ask a hard question.

“Why didn’t you sleep with Moriarty?”

She considered answering it truthfully: that both of them were a little bit too in love with the same person, but instead she chose to have some whiskey.

“Why are you still here? Your ankle has recovered; surely it’s time to start tracking down the network in person…”

Sherlock opened his mouth to explain, and then found he didn’t have a good explanation. He was still here because he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his life. He admitted as much to a chagrined Molly.

“Maybe there’s some other way you can do it. Can’t Mycroft help?”

“He already is. But some of it has to be done by me; otherwise the fake suicide is pointless and my friends will die. At least, the ones targeted.”

“What other friends do you have?” joked Molly, before she could stop herself.

“I have you.”

“Yes, you do.” She found the nerve to meet his eyes. He raised his glass in a silent toast to her.

“Why don’t you and Mycroft get on?”

“We’re too alike and he’s smarter than me,” said Sherlock, his tone clearly that of a younger son. He poured another drink and topped up Molly’s.

“He doesn’t seem that like you,” she mused.

“You mean you don’t fancy him too?” teased Sherlock. Seeing the embarrassed look on her face, he immediately regretted it.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary.”

“Hmm, true though,” she replied, taking a drink. They both seemed to have forgotten the rules of their own game and were now drinking whenever it suited them. 

“You don’t look like each other of course.”

“No, I take after my mother and he after my father.”

“Sherlock, why don’t you ever have a girlfriend?” The drink really must be getting to me.

He thought the same as he considered whether to answer this one: it was getting risky.

“I’m not good with social interaction. I’m selfish, arrogant, work-obsessed. You know all this.”

“You could be if you just tried. I think you’re afraid.”  
He knocked back the rest of his second glass and winced as the fire hit his throat.

“Maybe…but there’s no point pursuing this line of questioning, Molly. I have to be obsessed to finish this project.”

“And then?”

“And then what? I return to my life.”

“It won’t be the same you know. People think you’re dead. They’ll move on. Maybe when you’re finished, John will be married. Mrs Hudson…who knows.” Molly felt bad saying it but he needed to hear it.

“But you’ll still be here.”

“I’ll always be here, Sherlock.”

Molly leaned over to grab the bottle and Sherlock reached for her hand. He took it in his own. Hers were tiny, fitting inside his with ease. Taking her lead from him, she moved around the table, still holding his hand and stood in front of him. She finished her drink with one swallow and put the glass down on the table.

“I’m here right now.”

He didn’t respond but pulled her down on to his knee. She sat gingerly: not resting her full weight as if she might break him, or at least the spell they were under. His arms went round her, holding on tightly. Molly turned in his arms to face him. Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed from the whiskey.

“One last question, Sherlock. What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

“That’s not fair, the bottle is over there, and I’m trapped under you. I have to answer,” he pouted.

Molly waited for an answer.

“I’d kiss you back,” he said finally.

“Hmm, interesting,” replied Molly, as she attempted to stand up. Sherlock held on to her, not allowing her to go.

“You are a cruel temptress, Molly Hooper, I never knew you had it in you,” he said.

“I don’t,” she whispered, closing the distance between their faces to mere centimetres. She waited, wondering, hoping he’d do it. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes as weighed the potential outcomes and eventually decided he didn’t care. Sherlock placed a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her to him, finally meeting her lips with his own. Molly thought she might melt as she savoured the whiskey-flavoured Sherlock. Deepening the kiss for a moment before breaking off, Sherlock announced “the whiskey tastes better on you,” with a smile and another delicate brush of his lips, just against the corner of her mouth.

Molly felt her pose slipping away and she giggled.

“If I’d known it would only take 2 glasses of good spirits, I’d have tried this a long time ago.”

“Wouldn’t have worked before,” he said primly.

“And now?”

“Couldn’t fail…you’re all I see now, Molly, you’re everyone and everything at the moment.”

“That sounds a little creepy. I’m not your jailer!” she laughed.

“No, if anything, you’ve broken the lock. Who knows what you’ve set loose.”

Molly kissed him again, this time with more intent.

“Let’s find out then. I’ve plenty more challenges for you to lose. And let me be quite clear, dear Sherlock, you have lost this one.”

“Willingly,” he conceded, as he leaned in for another kiss.


	4. Board Games

Sherlock awoke on the armchair. He was dying. He was uncomfortable. And never drinking whiskey again! He wasn’t averse to the notion normally but then it didn’t normally lead to kissing and *shudder* cuddling. There was going to be AN ATMOSPHERE today.

Molly awoke in her bed. Tiny Disney birds opened the curtains and she stretched out with a smile as the sun shone in. Good whiskey never gave her a hangover. The evening certainly had taken an unanticipated turn…she might have imagined such a scenario in the past but never thought it would happen. As she realised there would now be AN AFTERMATH, her smile dimmed a little, but she was determined to make the best of it.

She slipped on her dressing gown. After the bathroom, she went straight to the kitchen and filled a glass of water. Sherlock was still in the armchair, legs swung over one side, still wearing his clothes from last night. A significant number of open buttons showed a wanton amount of chest hair and Molly smiled at what was going to become a favourite recollection: that of opening them. She held out the glass of water and two paracetamol tablets. Sherlock sat up and took them. Almost nervously, he met her eyes, which twinkled in the morning light.

“I see you are feeling better than me this morning.”

“I told you I would win…just didn’t think it would be quite this much of a triumph. You’ll really have to build up your tolerance,” she added with a wink.

“What do you mean by that?!”

“Well, most women wouldn’t take kindly to a fellow kissing her intently one minute and then falling asleep on her shoulder.”

“I did not.”

“Oh you did. I would have been terribly offended if I hadn’t been so amused by your snoring.”

“I do not snore.”

Molly reached into her pocket, pressed some buttons on her phone and turned the screen around to face him. Sherlock was confronted by the audio-visual image of his slumbering snoring self, head rested on Molly’s chest.

Oh.

Not good.

Bad, in fact.

But wait, she didn’t seem particularly upset…and she was amused enough to record it on her phone.

Molly’s arms were folded across her chest as she watched his reaction. Reaching down, she patted him on the head like a child.

“It’s ok, Sherlock.”

She went back to the kitchen – hangovers might be absent, but she was craving some bacon butties.

The smell of frying bacon soon drove Sherlock into the bathroom where he experienced the always curious feeling that only came with hangovers of throwing up and then feeling hungry immediately. He threw himself into the shower and shortly after returned to the kitchen in a towel again.

“Is there enough for me?” he asked piteously.

“Yep,” said Molly turning around and seeing him mostly naked at the kitchen table again, decided to just rise above it.

She placed a plate of rashers down on the table and then grabbed the already made toast. The two ate in companionable silence. Eventually Molly succumbed to small talk and she babbled about her nephew, then a row going on between Stamford and the hospital registrar. Sherlock did his best to ignore her politely but after 10 minutes, he could no longer bear it.

“Don’t you want to talk about it?”

“Stamford? I thought I already was.”

“No,” he said significantly.

“Oh, you mean the kissing? I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about…in fact, I wondered if you had deleted it.”

Sherlock’s mind flashed images of her soft lips on his neck, his finger stroking that sweet spot at the top of her ear, her kissing noises were even more delightful than her eating ones. No, he hadn’t deleted any of it. He decided a small lie was in order.

“No, I don’t know what’s going to be useful in my upcoming work, so I’m keeping everything.”

“Awh, that was almost sweet.”

“I didn’t mean it to be.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh.

Trying to change the subject, before she let herself think about it too much, she asked Sherlock what he was doing that day.

“Mycroft is calling over to discuss strategy. I assured him it was unnecessary but he insisted. I think it’s latent fraternal affection.”

“Only you would think that was a bad thing. Will he be staying for dinner?”

“Certainly not!”

“Shall I make myself scarce then?”

“There’s no need to that, Molly, it is your home: you could just stay in your bedroom while he was here.”

“Ha! You don’t want him to see me. Oh, you think he’ll know we’ve been snogging?”

“We were not snogging.”

Molly waved her phone at him.

“Mycroft is an astute observer of human behaviour, he will almost certainly know. I would not wish to expose you to his….teasing.”

First kissing, now protecting her from jibes, Molly didn’t know what to think.

“Right, well, I’ll go out then. I’ve a few errands to do anyway.”

By the time Molly returned home, the afternoon light was fading. Unfortunately, Mycroft was still there. The remains of tea for two sat on the table between them like a Mexican standoff. Sherlock had barely touched his, Mycroft’s was empty.

“Oh hi, I didn’t think you’d still be here, Mycroft.”

“I suspect you are avoiding me, Miss Hooper.”

“Of course not, and since we live in the 21st century, do please call me Molly. Let me just put down this box. More tea?”

Mycroft said “lovely” as Sherlock said “actually, he was just leaving.”

Molly looked from one to other. Sherlock shrugged unhappily. She went to put the kettle on.

When she returned, there was no choice but to sit beside Sherlock on the couch. Mycroft took one look at them side by side.

“Oh my god, really?” he exclaimed.

Sherlock made a face at him and Molly said nothing at all.

“You choose now to grow into your hormones? Sherlock, there’s no time for this…though it explains your dawdling about here.”

Mycroft picked up his fresh teacup and saucer. Do I even own saucers? Molly thought idly. He prissily extended his little finger and took a sip.

“Nothing will get in the way…the plans are coming along nicely.”

“And you still expect to leave next week?”

“Yes,” said Sherlock, as Molly audibly gasped.

“And you’re prepared for the potential ramifications of leaving yet another target behind?”

“She’s not a target. It didn’t mean anything…and no ones knows I’m alive anyway.”

Molly pursed her lips at this rather careless comment.

Happily for everyone, teacups are ridiculously small vessels and Mycroft drained his cup without another word.

“Well, I really must be getting along. Molly, lovely to see you as always; Sherlock, I’ll be in touch.”

With a nod of his head, he swished out the door, leaving two rather uncomfortable people on the couch.

“You’re leaving next week?” started Molly.

“Yes. It’s time to get going. The sooner I start, the sooner I return to my old life.”

“Right,” she replied quietly.

Ignoring the elephant in the room, Sherlock gestured towards the large box Molly had brought in with her.

“What’s in the box?”

“Oh, games, I went and picked them up, thought we might get a laugh out of them. Don’t suppose it matters now,” she said.

“Board games? I love board games. John never wants to play. What have you got?”   
Sherlock’s reply may have been a tad more enthusiastic than necessary but then…they really needed to not talk about the obvious. He opened the box and took out the games one by one. Some were obviously childhood memories: Monopoly, Cluedo, Junior Scrabble, Hotel, Game of Life. Others he had never heard of and were much newer like Trans-Europa, a newish copy of Trivial Pursuit and a couple were in German: Die Siedler von Catan and Pergamon.

“I didn’t know you were so into board games, Molly.”

“Oh yes, quite…bunch of friends and I play regularly. I’ve just had mine in storage at a friend’s house because this flat is so small.”

“Did you retrieve board games you can’t play alone from a friend today?” said Sherlock, alarmed.

“No, she’s away: I have a key. Give me some credit.”

“So what are we playing?”

“I’m feeling like a trio of property games: Monopoly, Hotel and then Game of Life.”

“Really? I must warn you I am excellent at Monopoly.”

“No one has ever beaten me….once, my friends formed a cartel and I still won.”

“I’ll be the boot.”

“I’ll take the iron.”

Sherlock was surprised to see Molly take such a gender specific piece.

“I like the little handle: it’s easy to move around the board.”

“One further question: why do you have the Dublin edition and not the standard London version?”

“Oh, my Dad brought it back from a business trip when I was a kid. I liked it – more unusual. It’s still the same game and the colour coding works – I looked up some property stuff about Dublin on the internet once.”

Sherlock filed this away under “oddities; Molly Hooper” and they got down to the game. As with all Monopoly games, time slowed down and nearly 2 hours passed playing away.

“Oh look, I’ve rolled 12.” Molly moved her piece, landing on Ailesbury Road, the second most expensive road.

“That’s mine…I think I’ll build….yes, another hotel.”

“I don’t see how you are cheating, but you must be,” Sherlock groaned.

“I told you: I’m simply wasted in the morgue…I could be wheeling and dealing. You could concede, of course.”

“Never!”

He didn’t have to. 5 minutes later it was all over with no prize for second place.

“Excellent. I wonder what you should forfeit this time.”

“Hmm, well, so far I have lost dignity, sobriety and chastity to you: what else can you take?”

Molly looked at him almost through her eyelashes…belatedly realised that she was doing that thing women did…and now he understood why: it was quite beguiling.

“I wouldn’t say you’ve entirely lost your chastity, Sherlock…but you could.”

“I’m not drunk this time, it won’t work.”

“Then why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re starving and I’m a delicious sandwich.”

His look now changed to that of incredulity.

Molly sighed and stood up. She gathered the remains of the afternoon tea onto a tray and brought them through to the kitchen. Sherlock sat for a moment trying to make a decision, and then he followed her. She was loading dishes into the machine and straightened up when she heard him come in.

He stalked over to her and pinned her against the worktop, his hands meeting around her waist.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered.

She squirmed against him, not unhappily.

“It certainly seems to be what you want,” she chided gently. When he made no reply, she spoke again.

“Is it what you want? I won’t have anyone say afterwards that you felt obliged…”

“Obliged? I doubt anyone watching us now would think I was being forced.”

Molly threaded her hands around his neck, pulling herself closer.

“Sherlock, either you want me or you don’t. I can cope with either but not this limbo. Kiss me now or walk away. This is not a competition. Y..you know I like you,” Molly was inwardly appalled that now of all times her nerves were getting the better of her. But then again, she could feel Sherlock’s heart beating fast: he wasn’t immune.

“I can’t deny any longer that I do feel something for you but I can’t place you in danger: imagine what Moriarty’s people would do if they knew I had someone special, I mean, more than a friend,” Sherlock’s usually eloquent speech was taking a turn for the worse.

They stood there, arms around each other, on the edge of something…happiness?...and Molly’s phone took the opportunity to ring.

Untangling herself, she made her way to it.

“It’s John,” she said apologetically.

“Hi Molly.”

“Hey John, how are you doing?”

“Ah, you know, rubbish. You?”

“Same,” she replied in her best actress voice.

Silence…

“I just still can’t believe it, Molly.”

“I know…it’s awful.”  
She sat down on the couch and listened as John talked, making only the occasional comment. Sherlock watched her as she played nurse to his doctor and finally couldn’t bear it anymore. Silently, he knelt on the ground in front of her, gently parting her knees so he could pull her in close. Close enough to hear John’s voice, which sounded gruff from tears. Molly was startled by his actions but the continuing call meant she was helpless to act so she just let herself relax into his embrace, his breath on her neck as he kissed her collarbone. It was so hot. Normally, Molly would be a vocal participant in such activities but instead she could only say things like:

“Yes, he knew exactly what buttons to push” and “he knows you would never believe such lies.”

Finally, John talked to himself out and said his goodbyes. The phone was barely hung up when Molly threw it across the room, free of her silent prison at last.

“Oh Sherlock!” she gasped. “You are very naughty! He could have heard you!”

It seemed no answer was required as she launched herself at his lips, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Sherlock lifted her up and repositioned them both on the couch.

“You’re on my couch.”

“Well, you’re on top of me, I can hardly help it,” she laughed. “What changed your mind?”

“My mind was quite made up last night – the only decision was now or after…and you were so kind to John on the phone just then…I know other people would crumble at such heartache but it only makes me more resolved to finish this thing.”

They kissed again with all the fervour of the long-denied.

“As comfortable as your couch is, Sherlock, why don’t we move to my bed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued….with more competitions…..


	5. Bedroom Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there's not much plot here. Ahem. Note the increased rating: if people care about such things.

Molly led Sherlock down the corridor towards her bedroom. She tried to project an air of outward calm and poise which had no relation to how she actually felt. Doing a little tap dance might be more accurate. Was this really going to happen? Would they live happily ever after? It wasn’t a dream: this she was sure of. For one thing, it was still daylight, no alcohol had been imbibed, he was following her with a remarkably silly grin on his face.

The silly grin masked a racing mind and heart. This is terrible timing. Don’t get attached now. But even he knows the truth: he’s been attached to her for a long time. She wasn’t the only person in London who could have helped him fake his death but he wanted her help. He chose her. Her loyalty shone through. After all, his efforts were meant to prove he wasn’t the machine John once accused him of being. Why not have this indulgence too?

Early evening sun cast a glow on Molly’s bedroom. He’d snooped in here before, of course, but never been invited until now. Molly might argue that he had a more or less permanent invitation to her bed since they first met but initially he didn’t pay attention, and when he did, it was in the wrong way. But now it looked like that was behind them as she pulled him down on the bed beside her, resting on her side.

“How do you want to do this?” she asked shyly.

It was not question Sherlock was used to being asked. It wasn’t quite English to discuss the plot of a sexual encounter beforehand. He tried to deflect.

“Well, obviously, there has to be some competitive element…” he began.

Molly threw her head back and laughed.  
“Are you saying you can’t have sex unless there’s a challenge involved?!”

“No…but it might be fun.”

“I’m all ears. Not how I imagined sex with you might be.”

“You prefer more generic: flowers, your steak dinner on the third date?” he inquired.

He got a thump for that comment as she sat astride his hips. Oh god help me, thought Sherlock.

“Alright, here’s the challenge. I will bring you to orgasm quicker than you can do me.”

Considering her position, Molly pulled an excellent shocked look.

“Surely, whoever goes second will have an unfair advantage,” she replied reasonably. 

“I’ll take the risk, now lie down.”

“Sherlock, I can’t just turn that on…I need drinks, soft lighting, a lead-in time, nicer underwear, and besides, women take longer to come than men, I’ll definitely win.”

“Oh now you’ve done it…” he said as he rolled her onto her back.

“Done what?” she gasped as he tugged the belt off her trousers.

“You’ve made it sound impossible…and there is no such thing.”

“But seriously we’ve never had sex before, you don’t even know what I like and I don’t know what you like!” Her resolve was weakening.

Musician’s hands were busy pulling down her trousers and throwing them across the room.

“Molly, you forget who you’re dealing with. Don’t you know I can just deduce what you’ll like?”

She looked down at the only man she wanted between her legs and wondered why she was even bothering to have this argument…there would be absolutely no losers here.

“And besides, I don’t care what underwear you have on,” he added, hooking his fingers into the top of it and slowly removing it, giving her time to stop him if she really did want to. That alone nearly broke her – genuine consideration was not something Molly had had much of in bed.

Sherlock regarded her – eyes lingering over her oddly still clothed top half. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the soft skin below her belly button and exhaled heavily, causing her to shiver all over.

“Can I go on then?” he asked, knowing the effect his voice would have.

“Please,” she sighed.

Sherlock threw an eye on her beside clock, not forgetting the challenge, and pressed open mouth kisses down to her clitoris. 

“Ok?” he asked again.

Molly squirmed underneath his ministrations and practically shouted “Oh stop talking already!”

He smiled and continued on.

“You don’t want me to talk? But I can tell from your body language that you’re surprised I know what I’m doing and you’re wondering just how many women I’ve done this for.”

Molly threw her leg over his shoulder to allow deeper access. In truth, she was wondering about it but the pleasure centres of her brain were overwhelming her natural curiosity. Sherlock focussed on his task but continued with the occasional comment.

“Several experiments at university, that’s the answer, the occasional woman since then, 14 in total,” he answered her unspoken question as she arched her back and emitted the most un-Molly groan. It was like music to his ears. Taking his cue from her, he sped up his tongue movements as Molly grabbed a fistful of his hair. Her toes curled into the sheets. Perfect. He stopped and removed his tongue. Molly opened her eyes. 

“Why are you stopping?”

“You want me to continue?” he smiled wickedly.

“Yes!” She reached her own hand down but he pushed it away.

“That would be cheating…allow me to finish.”

He lapped at her again, rougher now, and slipped one long finger inside her. Her strong muscles clenched around him as he thought three, two, one as Molly came like a firework released at last.

“Sherlock,” she moaned, pulling him up into her arms.

“5 minutes, 14 seconds,” he announced. “I’d say that’s a personal best but then, I never knew the others quite as well as I know you; definitely gave me an advantage.”

“You want to go away and make notes, don’t you?” she said slowly, still a bit dazed.

“Of course not, whenever you’re ready, Molly?”

“Ready for what?”

“Well, I believe there was going to be reciprocal activity…you promised,” he pouted.

“I didn’t, you know, but since you’re here, and you were just so nice to me…”

Molly didn’t consider herself either the virgin or the whore when it came to sex but she did know one thing: there was no such thing as a bad blowjob. A college boyfriend had once suggested that they were like pizza, even when bad, still pretty damn good. True: she hadn’t expected Sherlock to be quite so experienced…she was just some girl who’d only slept with 7 people now. Sherlock rolled onto his back. Molly took care of the undressing and was pleased to see he was not unaffected by her own arousal…half her work was done for her already. Still, she knew what she was doing as she casually took her own top off and threw her bra away. Men were so visual and Sherlock responded exactly to type as he reached forward to cup one of her boobs.

“No, no, no helping! Lie back there and think of England, or me,” she commanded.

Unlike Molly, Sherlock kept his eyes open the whole time. There was nothing quite like the sight of a woman’s hand or mouth on his cock but this was more special, because it was Molly. He thrust into her hand at the very first touch. Molly took her time just holding his cock and sneaked a look at the clock. Piece of cake, she thought, as she lowered her lips on to him. The girl who had once practiced on ice-pops licked all the way down and back up again before taking him inside her mouth. She thought she should try this with ice-cubes in her mouth some time but expediency was the order of the evening. He wasn’t far off breaking point when Molly very lightly grazed her teeth over the head of his penis – a secret weapon that had never failed her before. It took only about 10 more seconds before he was spilling into her mouth and shouting her name.

Molly sat up triumphantly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and declared “there, 4 minutes 25 seconds.” Sherlock pulled her into his lap and lazily kissed along her jaw line.

“I think we should call this one a draw.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in writing this next chapter. I hope posting 2 at once makes up for it.

The next few days passed in a post and ante-coital haze. Molly took a few days off work, in the guise of needing a rest, but they both knew the real reason. The clock was counting down to when Sherlock would have to leave and she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. For his part, there was no protest. It had been a long time since either had engaged in a physical relationship. The timing might be ill-advised but both flung themselves into it with gusto. It was heady, intense, filled with in-jokes and laughter, and coming to an end.

Inevitably, the day of his departure dawned and it was time for a temporary goodbye. But for now, they were still in bed, pretending they had longer. Somehow, whoever got out of the bed first would lose.

“Do you really have to do this yourself, Sherlock?” asked Molly, knowing the answer.

Sherlock pulled her in close against his chest.

“You know I do. Our relationship doesn’t change the threat to the others. When I go, you must go on with your life as normally as possibly. Look after the others. I’ll keep in touch where possible but be prepared that I may be out of reach. I’ll initially leave the country to make a start but the search may well lead me back here from time to time.” 

Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of her head and moved to extricate himself. Molly clung on to him, hooking her leg around his.

“No, you really don’t have to get up for another 30 minutes and I want all the time we have left.”

“You’d have me meet Mycroft with bed hair and smelling like you?” he grinned.

“I think Mycroft might understand a little better than you think…he’s not the monster you make him out to be.”

“Perhaps, but his indiscretion was the catalyst for Moriarty’s lies. Everyone believed the story because so much of it was true. I know he’s helping me now but it will take time to get past this. Our relationship was already challenged.”

“Well, maybe don’t be so hard on him. He’s had to face a lot of heat over this debacle too, and done it while pretending to have caused the death of his brother. That cannot be easy.”

“Oh, he’s a consummate actor. Right, I really must get up…join me in the shower one last time?”

“No, I’m good here.”

Sherlock took one look at her and made a pronouncement.

“Really, are you going to sleep in our dirty sheets for days too?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Of course not! Maybe just tonight.”

“Get in the shower with me right now or I’ll…”

“What will you do? You’re dead! And leaving! You can’t threaten me with anything!” she teased.

“True – but our competition continues while I am gone. I believe I am winning at the moment.”

“Not even a little bit. You won the dinner round and that’s it. I won everything else,” she allowed the smugness to creep into her voice.

“I’m sure the challenges will be more difficult while we’re apart but we’ll have plenty of time to think of suitable ones…”

“What so like you’ll text me a challenge and then we’re on the honour system to see who does it best?”

“I see your point. Well, I’ll just have to come back sooner then.”

Serious now, Molly knelt up and put her arms around his neck.

“Please do. Come back immediately. Be safe. I…”

“Don’t say it,” he cut her off.

Molly looked disappointed until he explained.

“I might never leave. It was hard enough to leave Baker St.”

“Let’s get in the shower.”

It wasn’t one of those sexy film showers. Molly wondered had any real people ever had successful sex in a shower: it seemed so unlikely. And dangerous. Once he had finished his ablutions, she reached up and kissed him hard.

“Go now. I’ll stay in the shower. Be gone when I get out. I can’t chase you if I’m wet and naked.”

“Molly…”

“Please – go before I make a show of myself.”

“Ok.”

He got out of the shower immediately. Sherlock was very obedient – when it suited him.

He left the bathroom and closed the door. Molly stood under the shower and started washing her hair. She was determined not to cry, not to be one of those women who were nothing without a man. 

Pull yourself together, she told herself. You’ve got him. You just have to wait for him to come back. Be Penelope – even if it takes that long. He’ll come back to all of you. 

Sherlock dried himself off and dressed quickly in the bedroom. She was right…best to go straightaway. There was work to be done, and when it was, he could come back to her, to him, to life…and for now, there were new challenges. He would have to go outside his comfort zone and possibly do unspeakable acts. Molly would need to behave normally in the face of massive deception, hiding her true feelings from even herself for now.


	7. Delayed competition

After two weeks of games, competitions and the challenge of temporary co-habitation with Sherlock, Molly was relishing the quiet of her little home. Everything was back in its place. The cat was happy to have sole control of his human again. There were no unexpected late night noises. It was hell. Molly wanted him back. She’d always thought people were saps when they said they missed someone so much it hurt. Well, she took it all back now and gingerly took her place with those saps. Sherlock would mock her if he knew. When she practiced her Wii Fit jogging that morning, Sherlock’s Mii cheered her on. She had to stop for a minute but she managed to shake off the thought of his long fingers running down her spine as he kissed her neck…ok, so she wasn’t great at stopping those thoughts, but she was trying. In her own way, she felt like she’d won this round. No giving in to the missing him. It wasn’t like she’d had him that long anyway. Work was the answer. Long hours. Paperwork. Meticulous attention to detail. And it was, of course, at work, that she first saw John again.

He came in one day. Molly caught herself looking behind him for Sherlock. John noticed and smiled.

“I keep doing that too. At first, I thought I wouldn’t stay at Baker St. Stayed with Harry, my sister, for a few days, but then I knew I had to go back. I’m sorry I was such a mess that time you visited, Molly.”

“John, don’t even think about it. We were all a mess. I still am, in truth.” Molly wasn’t even lying in saying she was a mess…well, ok, she was but not entirely.

“Do you think we could grab some coffee?”

“Sure. I’m due a break anyway.”

They strolled silently to the canteen and grabbed takeaways. As they headed outside, Molly realised summer had arrived without her notice. She was still wearing a scarf that was wholly unnecessary now.

“So how have you been?” asked John.

“Ah, you know…ok…crap…”

He nodded.

“I met someone.”

“What? How? When?” Molly couldn’t hide her surprise.

“I know…what crazy timing. My therapist suggested I go to a group session. Mary – that’s her name – was helping out. She’s a widow. They were only married a couple of years. It’s early days, but, Molly, I really like her. And I feel terrible about it.”

“Sherlock would want you to get on with your life and be happy.”

John barked out a laugh.

“No, he wouldn’t! Are you already remembering him with rose-tinted glasses? He hates all my girlfriends. Hated them, I mean. Acted like a jealous lover at times.”

Molly wrapped her fingers around her cup, more for something to do than the warmth. Talking about her feelings seemed safer.

“I guess I always saw Sherlock with rose-tinted glasses. Always hoped he might cop on one day.”

“Oh, shit, sorry, Molly…ignore me…he did like you, in his own way.”

“I know. He told me once that I did count,” she said proudly.

“When was that?”

“The day before….it.”

“Really? He said some pretty weird stuff to me on the phone too. Out of character like. For a while, I convinced myself he was faking it somehow but no one could do that. Could they?”

John looked up sharply and directly at Molly. 

“If anyone could have, it would have been him. I did the autopsy myself. You know that,” Molly’s voice caught on the word “autopsy.” She hadn’t meant it to but it was easy to slip into the bereaved, unrequited love role she would have played were he really dead.

“Of course,” agreed John. “Sorry, I just wish it were so. You should probably get back to work. I’ll walk you back.”

“Yeah. They’re being nice and lenient on me since I came back to work but I probably shouldn’t exploit it,” she smiled ruefully.

They said their goodbyes and made promises to meet up that neither intended to keep. As John walked off, Molly couldn’t decide whether she’d chalk that performance up to a win or a loss. From Sherlock’s perspective, he’d count it as her win because she got to talk to John and he didn’t. From hers, deception on this level felt like failure, however noble the reasons.

***

A month later

Sherlock was back in London but off the grid. He met with a homeless girl on Tower Bridge, who handed him a note with a curt nod. Sherlock walked on and opened it in front of the new council offices. 

11am War Cabinet Museum   
M.

Trust Mycroft to be so cryptic. Honestly, couldn’t they just meet at his office. Sherlock decided not to wait and hailed a taxi.

“Diogenes Club, please.”

Though he would never admit it to John, he was actually a member, or he had been before he died. Mycroft was a founder member, and had insisted.

Sherlock looked at his reflection in the cabbie’s rear view mirror. His curls were shorn and dyed blond. With red sideburns left to grow wild, he affected a mod look that no one would associate with his former persona.

On arrival, Sherlock sent a note to Mycroft and went directly to the talking room. A moment later, Mycroft stalked into the room, which was otherwise empty.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you get my note?”

“I did…but didn’t feel like waiting.”

“You could have been followed.”  
“I wasn’t.”

Mycroft gave in and sat down.

“How are you?” he asked, betraying a hint of anxiety.

“Fine. How are things on this end? I see the stress has made you lose 5lbs. Mummy will be pleased,” remarked Sherlock.

“Do be serious. Five has rounded up a few strays. I saw the report on Moran. Once we get him, the rest will tumble.”

“He’s rather sneaky. I’ve been tracking him myself.”

“Sherlock! You’re meant to be laying low, and doing research online. Don’t get involved with the wet work. That’s what Five is for.”

“Moran was more than just a trusty lieutenant for Moriarty. He was his protégé, his chosen successor. Not a smart, no real vision, but capable. Tell me how they are,” asked Sherlock, abruptly changing the subject.

“John is seeing a woman, a Mrs Mary Morstan, a teacher and widow. They’re well suited. He’s a much better boyfriend without your influence. Mrs Hudson is fine. She’s mourning you, of course; visits your grave regularly. Lestrade’s confined to desk work but he hasn’t been demoted. Seems a few other detective inspectors spoke up for you and the commissioner was obliged to either fire several of his most able officer or turn a blind eye. There’s been a couple of appeals from career criminals you helped jail but nothing serious.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to ask about Molly, and then closed it again. He wasn’t going to win the separation by thinking of her.

“She’s well.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know. Missing you obviously…covers it well with fake bereavement. She may have missed a chance to be on the stage. You’re not thinking of seeing her, are you?”

“Don’t worry. It would be foolish to talk to her. I’m leaving in the morning. I’ll be in touch through the regular channel when I’ve worked out Moran’s next move. It will be soon.”

“Sherlock…do be careful.”

Perhaps the concern was better late than never, thought Sherlock as he left the Diogenes Club on foot. Despite what he had said to Mycroft, he headed for Molly’s apartment. She would be due home from work soon. He would not talk to her.

He took up a position in the café across the street from the entrance way. Two cups of rather good coffee later, he was rewarded by the sight of the pathologist trotting down the road. To his chagrin, John was with her. Two for the price of one. They looked happy, laughing about something…carefree. Oh she was definitely winning. Life went on as normal and she got his best friend too! He tossed some coins on the table and left, walking in the opposite direction.

“…and then Sherlock said “obviously, you are your own twin. Maintaining two personas is quite a feat…” We all looked at him agog. It was the most wrong I’d ever seen him be,” said John, tears of laughter rolling down his face.

Molly choked back a snort.

“Gosh, I wish I’d seen that. He must have been so grumpy afterwards!”

“Oh yes, I strategically invented a visit to my parents in Scotland to get away. Poor Mrs Hudson had to get a plasterer in to fix the wall….and she confiscated the gun. It was classic.”

“Why didn’t you write this up for the blog?”

“He said he would poison me in my sleep…no would ever know it was him. And they wouldn’t. If anyone could commit a perfect murder, it would have been Sherlock.”

Molly smiled her agreement as they walked into her building.


	8. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting.

Molly found it hard to believe it was nearly a year since Sherlock’s death. Life had indeed gone on without him. Mycroft had kept her up to date in a vague, incomplete manner. His PA, Anthea, would send a text saying “M says everything going to plan” every couple of weeks in the beginning, then it stretched out to a month at a time. At Christmas, Mycroft had dropped around for tea. He did not bring his own saucer that time. It was a strange, awkward hour where embarrassing chit-chat gave way to a screaming row. Molly was feeling low – the standard setting for a single woman at Christmas. It was all too easy to remember the previous year. Molly would take the insults all over again just to have Sherlock back. Mycroft smiled sadly as he stood up leave, knowing that Molly’s ire wasn’t really for him.

Across London, Sherlock met with an MI5 team and Mycroft.

“Well, that’s it,” said the man in a grey suit, who had strategically not identified himself. He passed Sherlock a passport and an envelope, which contained his now cancelled death certificate.

“Thought you might want that as a memento. And that’s your passport back in your own name. It’ll be good travel under Holmes again, eh?”

“Thank you. I don’t plan any travelling outside of London for a very long time.”

Mycroft had been silent for most of the meeting. As he and Sherlock left Thames House, he finally spoke.

“What will you do first?”

“Where are they?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but left out the jibe for once. He took out his phone, pressed a button and raised it to his ear.

“Yes, whereabouts of Drs John Watson and Molly Hooper, please.”

He listened, nodded as if the other speaker could hear him, and hung up.

“Interesting. They’re together. Celebrating St Patrick’s day in a pub called Quinns near Regent’s Park.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Do you want to change clothes first? You don’t exactly look your usual self.”

“I haven’t been myself in almost a year, Mycroft. I’ll just have to hope they’ll take me as I am,” said Sherlock, allowing a small amount anxiety to creep into his voice.

“Do you want me to come with you? Hold your hand?”

“Certainly not! But you can give me some money. I’ll send word tomorrow after I’ve spoken to Mrs Hudson…hopefully I’ll be returning to Baker St tonight but just in case.”

“You can always stay at the Club…”

“I know.”

“Sherlock, I feel obliged to say that I am most dreadfully sorry for my part in this episode. I hope we can put it behind us and resume our traditional relationship.”

A hint of Sherlock’s trademark smirk emerged.

“Of course, open hostilities at dawn. I expect we’ll both be summoned by Mummy soon.”

Mycroft extended his hand, in a very English way, and Sherlock grasped it, a testament to how very tired he was.

oOo

It was cold for mid-March. The Thames was dyed green for the occasion. Molly had arranged to meet John for a walk in Regent’s Park, and then a pint. The walk hadn’t lasted long as a cold sleet developed. John and Molly repaired to a local Irish pub where they ordered pints in the tiny bar and made their way to a small table at the back of the room.

“Do you have any Irish ancestors then?” asked Molly, conversationally.

“Not a clue. Probably, I read 25% of the whole population does. You?” he replied.

“No, but Dad used to go to Dublin quite regularly for work. Er, sláinte, then,” said Molly as they clinked their pints of Guinness together.

John sat with his back to the door, so when Sherlock entered the bar, looked around, and made his way towards them, his first indication that something was wrong was the sudden extreme wobble of Molly’s pint as she tried and failed to lift it to her lips.

“Molly, what’s wrong?” John reached out and took her drink, placing it safely back on the table.

“Oh, John, I’m so sorry this has to happen here.”

“What are you talking about?”

Molly looked over his shoulder and upwards, her face pale. John followed her gaze around and saw a ghost. A man who looked strikingly like Sherlock, if he were blond with long sideburns and given to wearing jeans.

Of course, since Sherlock was dead, John thought that this was a very unfortunate coincidence – one of those doppelganger stories he’d read about online. However, much to his surprise, Molly stood up and then the man spoke.

“Molly. It’s done.”

She threw herself into his arms and released a loud cry of relief. The man squeezed her tightly as he looked anxiously at John.

John’s mind caught up with his eyes as he realised that the man spoke with Sherlock’s voice.

“Fucking hell!” cried John loudly. “You are kidding me. I mean, you have to be kidding me.” 

He stood up, then promptly sat down again as his legs threatened to give way.

“I don’t believe it.”

John’s mind whirred with a stream of thoughts. Part of him wanted to punch the bastard. Part of him wanted to be in that very interesting looking hug that he would have ask about later. 

“Is it really you, Sherlock?”

Molly and Sherlock separated. She resumed her seat as Sherlock pulled over another stool.

“It is. Can I join you?”

Molly bit her lip as she looked nervously at John, still unsure how he was taking this astonishing news.

“You were dead. I saw you. You said you did the autopsy,” he added, now addressing Molly.

“Yes, John, I lied. It was all terribly complicated; your life was in danger, and it was the only way.”

“You, you faked your death and disappeared for a year. Sherlock, where have you been? What have you been doing? How could you do this to us?”

“John, I assure you a long explanation is forthcoming. For now, suffice to say that your life, and that of Mrs Hudson and Lestrade hung in the balance, and the only way to save you from Moriarty’s minions was to fake my death. That night, after Kitty’s house, I went to Molly and we planned how to do it. Mycroft was involved, naturally, and I’ve been hiding out in Europe for most of the time….we’ve tracked down and dismantled Moriarty’s network.”

It was a lot to take in. John took a large gulp of his pint before speaking.  
“I can’t believe it. I never did believe it, in fact, but it was hard to argue with a body and, of course, the good Dr Hooper is a better actress than one would imagine.”

He smiled for the first time.

“You bloody bastard. I suppose you want to move back in too!”

“Yes, please.”

John reached out and grasped Sherlock’s forearm.

“I’m sure I’ll regret it but what the hell. I missed you, mate. I’ll get more drinks.”

He stood up and left the table leaving Molly with Sherlock to herself.

“I think that went as well as could be expected,” said Sherlock calmly.

“It hasn’t properly hit him yet. He’ll probably punch you in the face later. Oh, Sherlock, is it really over?”

“Yes, Moriarty’s second-in-command, Moran, was apprehended yesterday. I am myself again. I can return to my old life.”

At this, Molly straightened up.

“Right, I understand.”

Sherlock nodded, feeling like he was missing something in her tone. He was out of touch.

John returned carrying 3 new pints and a shot of whiskey for himself.

“They’d not got any Scotch!” he exclaimed indignantly.

“Well, it is an Irish bar, John, what did you expect?” said Sherlock.

“Tell me about this Mary then. Mycroft says I should learn this one’s name…”

Molly watched as the two men slipped happily back into their friendship. She felt excluded and a little bereft. Perhaps it was foolish of her to have thought that things would go back to the way they had been immediately after the Fall. Now it seemed that those two weeks were the aberration. She abruptly stood up.

“Oh, is that the time. I have to get going. I’ll see you both soon, right?”

Sherlock and John both looked at her, surprised. 

“Sure,” said John. Sherlock was not so easily deterred.

“Where do you have to go? We have a lot to catch up on.”  
“Well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Molly decided to rush off before she said anything she regretted.

Sherlock looked at John baffled by Molly’s sudden exit.

“What happened there?” asked John.

“You know as much as I do.”

“No, you plonker, what happened with Molly?”

Sherlock scratched the back of his head as he regarded his newly restored best friend.

“Yes, that’s a long story too, but I fear it is not yet complete.”

oOo

Sherlock had had a long time to prepare this particular conversation with John. 

“After the fall, I stayed with Molly for 2 weeks while my injuries healed. We decided the fewer people who knew the better. We became more comfortable with each other and then things got competitive.”

“Competitive? Is that some weird slang?” John interrupted.

“No. I was bored and she challenged me to things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Never mind…” Sherlock actually seemed a little embarrassed.

“Oh, wait, she came and asked for your violin during that time. Was this some sort of forfeit?”

“I’d forgotten that. Yes, I asked her to get it for me,” Sherlock’s eyes were distant, clearly remembering something he wasn’t willing to share with his flatmate.

“So get to the good part,” said John eagerly.

“I don’t know what you mean!”

“Course you do. How did she wear you down? Cos obviously you slept with her…repeatedly I’d hazard.”

It was rare for John to have the upper hand in a deduction but women were his area…

“She didn’t wear me down. It was entirely mutual. I had…no, I have feelings for her, and they now have had a long time to fester. Of course we slept together: we’re both adults, John, and since we’re not teenagers, that’s all the information you are getting about it.”

“Fair enough, so tell me this then. How have you managed to bugger it so quickly? You’ve barely been here half an hour and she’s run out of the place.”

“I do not know. But it seems like I have an excuse to visit her later: she has my violin,” Sherlock smiled a wicked smile.

“First, shall we go break the news to Mrs Hudson, and maybe Lestrade too?”

Sherlock nodded his agreement.

oOo

Molly headed straight for home. What a fool she had been to think that he would return home to her. Of course he was coming home to his previous life. Crime-fighting, gallivanting with John, swooping into the morgue with his coat and his hair demanding results and samples. Well, maybe not the hair: but it would grow. All this time waiting for nothing. Perhaps a clean break was for the best. Tomorrow she’d put in for a transfer to a different part of the country. There was nothing to keep her here now. One night of mourning and then a new beginning. Tomorrow is another day, as Scarlett O’Hara once said.

Reaching her flat, she ran herself a bubble bath, and took a long soak with a glass of red wine. She left her hair to air dry, put on a night dress and her dressing gown, and lit the fire. Maybe a fire was indulgent in March, but there were reports of snow, so what the hell. Then, and only then, did she indulge in what had become a passion in the past year.

She took up Sherlock’s violin and began to play. Once he had gone, the violin was wasted. She couldn’t return it to John. One day, she’d seen an advertisement for adult lessons and decided to give it a whirl. Most surprisingly, Molly had turned out to have an aptitude for the notoriously difficult. Her violin teacher, a bossy Russian woman named Paulina, said if Molly had started as a child, she could have played first chair in an orchestra. It was a cherished compliment, even if pointless now. She knew she wasn’t in Sherlock’s league but it gave her significant pleasure to be able to make it sound passable after such a short time. Playing his violin made her feel closer to him, even if he didn’t know she was doing it.

oOo

Sherlock was exhausted after the telling and retelling of his story to John, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. There had been tears and remonstrations. He was officially back in Baker St. Mycroft was sending around his things but for now, he was still in his unusual attire. There was just one thing left to do. Fix it with Molly.

He arrived at her building. The front door was broken so he easily gained access. As he alighted at her floor, he heard violin music. Not perfect enough to be a loud cd but quite good. As he reached her door, he was surprised to realise the music came from within. Who was playing his violin? Common sense said it could only be Molly but she couldn’t play the violin…could she?

He raised his hand and knocked. The music stopped. The door opened and Molly stood before him.

“I thought you would come for it,” she said sadly, holding out the violin.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice hoarse from all the evening’s talking.

She opened the door wider to admit him.

“I didn’t know you could play.”

“I learnt after you left.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“This is the product of less than a year’s lessons? You are remarkably polished for so little training.”

Molly blushed at the compliment: high praise from one so proficient himself.

“I’ll get the case.”

“No. Keep it. I’ll get another.”

“Sherlock! I can’t keep your Stradivarius! I was only keeping it safe and warmed up for you.”

“I want you to have it. Consider it an insufficient thank you.”

Molly put it down on the nearest chair.

“An instrument worth several thousand pounds seems over the top. Guilty conscience, perhaps?”

Sherlock was taken aback, though her tone was not harsh, her words held an unexpected bitterness.

“Molly, I don’t understand…”

“No one’s ever given me my marching orders with a gift like this before.”

“Marching orders? What are you talking about it?”

“It’s ok, Sherlock, I get it. You’re going back to your old life, and I’m not in it. Or least, not in the way I’d hoped. I’m just your pathologist again.” She hugged her arms around her body, trembling, suddenly cold, despite her fire.

He groaned with the realisation. His previously clumsy choice of words had made her think she was unwanted. Her insecurity had done the rest.

“Molly. You’ve got it all wrong. My life as I knew it ended the day I jumped off the roof of the hospital. I took a step both physically and metaphorically. When I said earlier that I could have my life back: I didn’t mean exactly the way I was.”

“What did you mean?” she asked quietly.

“Of course I mean to resume my career but I’m no longer willing to live so sterile an emotional life. John and I will continue to share the flat at Baker St for now but I was hoping that you would be a frequent visitor, and that I would regularly come here. Let me be 100% clear. I didn’t plan our interlude last year but I’ve thought about you every day since I went away. I daydreamed about our reunion.”

“What did you imagine?” her voice was shaky.

“You want me to embarrass myself: I’ll do it willingly to regain your trust. I didn’t think you and John would be together. I thought we’d be alone, here in your flat. I’d knock on the door, you’d open it, jump into my arms. I’d kiss you and say “I’m back.”

“That’s kinda tame,” she teased.

“That’s the clean version.”

She laughed.

“Please say you believe me, Molly. The thought of returning to you, to all of you but most especially to you, was often all that sustained me in the last year. I watched you with John once, smiling and joking. It was so hard to see you – I only did it once because I knew if I kept coming back, I wouldn’t stay away, and I’d be a dead man forever.”

“I believe you, Sherlock.”

He stretched out his hand to her. She took his and allowed him to wind her in close. They stood still, breathing in each other’s scent, familiarising themselves with the feel of the other. After a long moment, Molly stood on her tiptoes to kiss him gently. At the touch of his lips, she felt herself break and she let out a cry. A cry that held a year’s worth of worry and hope. Sherlock was stunned at her reaction and just held her while she cried. Finally, she pulled herself together and smiled a watery grin at him. Disengaging, she moved over to the fire and replaced the fire guard.

“You look tired: come to bed.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“What would you have done if I’d refused?”

“I’d have called Mycroft. Apparently I always need my big brother to help me out of trouble. There’s no bed linen or clothes at Baker St, and my room needs a year’s worth of dust removed before I can sleep in it again.”

“So you only want me for my bed?”

“Well, not only….”

This time they both laughed. 

“I have only one final thing to say, Molly. I’m a better violinist than you so I’ve won this particular challenge.”

“Bollocks! What were you like after 11 months of playing? I bet you were rubbish.”

“Perhaps, but without a time machine, you’ll never know what 5 year old Sherlock played like. Now: let the games recommence.”

“Oh, it’s on,” she replied in a mock-US accent.


	9. Family Games

Sherlock stared at the heavy, embossed with a coat of arms, envelope. It was meticulously addressed to 

(the late) Sherlock Holmes, Esq.  
221B Baker Street  
London

No postcode. No stamp. Hand-delivered. Mummy had always had a flair for the dramatic. Sighing loudly to the empty room, he opened it. A single card was inside.

Sherlock,

Mycroft informs me that you are both alive and involved with a woman. Naturally, I have taken to my bed with shock. You will oblige me by visiting next Friday at 8pm for drinks with Dr Hooper.

No excuses.

Violet

How like her to sign with her actual name. He thought she’d secretly prefer if neither he nor Mycroft called her Mummy.

He sent two text messages. The first to his mother said “fine”, the second to Mycroft “we have been summoned, you will attend for backup.” Molly he would tell in person. 

oOo  
Molly was at work. The day was ticking along steadily towards a long bath and perhaps a cheeky glass of Tuesday evening wine. As Sherlock had promised, there had been no ramifications from her role in his faked suicide. If anything, she’d gained a little respect for keeping up such a good front. The gossip mill had yet to get hold of the much more interesting to most nugget that she and Sherlock were now involved. As she thought that, Sherlock appeared. She wondered if she could now perform this routinely – think of him and he appeared, as if by magic. More unexpected was the small posy of violets he was holding out to her.

“What have you done?” she enquired with a smile.

“Nothing. Yet.”

“Well then, what do you want?”

“The flowers are a hint.”

Molly scrutinised the flowers. “Hmm, violets, purple, not a standard choice. Nope, I give up. You’re the detective.”

He took a deep breath.

“My mother would like to meet you. Her name is Violet.”

“Oh!”

“You don’t have to go,” he said nervously. “She is a challenge – no, not in that sense, she’s very tiresome and she might be quite rude.”

“You mean, like mother like son?!” she teased.

“Quite.”

“When does she want to meet?” asked Molly.

“This Friday for drinks at her townhouse.”

“Townhouse?” she raised an eyebrow in question.

“She has a house in town, and when my father is in the country, she’s in town, and vice versa. So you won’t have to meet him this time. Or possibly ever – he’s not particularly interested in his children.”

“Why, Sherlock, that almost sounded bitter.”

“I suppose I am a little. But we won’t be totally alone with Mummy, I mean, my mother. Mycroft will be there too.”

“First of all, “Mummy” really? What age are you? And secondly, because it wasn’t quite daunting enough to meet “Mummy”, you thought we’d better have Mycroft too?!” she joked.

“Mycroft likes you. He’s not obvious about it but he wouldn’t tolerate you otherwise, and he certainly wouldn’t have left a cup and saucer from his special teaset at your flat.”

“I wondered where that came from. Probably shouldn’t tell him I let Toby drink from it then?”

Sherlock grinned. “So you’ll come? It may be awful.”

“Sherlock, my darling, do not worry. Parents love me.”

“Ha!”

“What’s not to love? I’m a doctor, you know.”

“Well, that’s true,” he paused, “you are a doctor.”

Molly gave him a puck in the arm.

oOo

Friday came around quickly. Mycroft was picking Molly and Sherlock up in his fancy government car.

Molly inspected her appearance in her full-length bedroom mirror. She had made an effort but was still in essence herself. Hair pulled up in a carefully messy bun, a neat green dress to the knees with no sleeves and a black silky shawl to match high black heels. A modest amount of make-up to give confidence. Her air of indifference had been somewhat of an act she was surprised Sherlock had fallen for. As Molly’s own mother had died when she was 10, she hadn’t spent a lot of time with mothers. Her aunt Jenny had been on hand when Dad needed female assistance but mostly she’d grown up without a female role model. And of course, with her father dead, and no siblings, Molly was more or less on her own in the world by the age of 30. She smiled fondly as she placed a locket with photos of her parents around her neck. She wondered what her Dad would have thought of Sherlock. Of course, he’d have said he wasn’t good enough, no stable job, rude, arrogant. All true but Dad would have crumbled once he saw how happy his little girl was. She hoped Sherlock’s mother wasn’t quite the dragon he had made her out to be.

The bell rang: summoning Molly to her execution, or at least interrogation. Anthea stood there, texting as always, her “I know something you don’t” smile omnipresent. They regarded each other and finally Anthea said “oh yes, you’ll do nicely.”

Molly got into the back seat of the car. Sherlock and Mycroft sat as far away from each other as was possible. Each stared out the opposite window. The air was distinctly frosty. Molly decided to lighten it.  
“Well, I make all this effort, and the two of you don’t even say hello, never mind a “you look nice, Molly.”

Sherlock turned around, outraged. “I was just about to…you do look lovely.”

“Sherlock never had good manners in the first place, Molly. Please have a seat and we can get going. Mummy doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Molly kinked up with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Sherlock.

“I’m sorry. It’s all this “mummy” business. Honestly: you are both grown men. I realise that siblings often have shorthand for addressing their parents, even as adults, but really, couldn’t you say “our mother” or “mum” or something like normal people do? It’s ridiculous.”

Sherlock looked a bit sheepish. 

“We have never been normal,” Mycroft said curtly.

“Well that’s true. If this is what the prospect of seeing her does to the two of you, I’m obviously going to be roasted alive.”

Sherlock took Molly’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

Soon after, too soon, the car pulled up outside a portico-front door. As they emerged from the car, Molly recognised her surroundings as Grosvenor Square, one of the most exclusive addresses in Mayfair. Seeing Molly’s reaction, Sherlock leaned over to her.

“You can hardly be surprised to learn my mother is comfortable.”

“Well, no, but there are levels, Sherlock.”

“Too late for that discussion now,” chided Mycroft, as the front door opened. An honest to god butler stood back to allow them entry.

“Thank you, Miles,” murmured both brothers, as Miles took their coats.

“She’s in the Drawing Room,” he said quietly. Molly could hear the capital letters on Drawing and Room…she almost giggled but managed to maintain her composure. 

Sherlock held the door open and Mycroft went through first, followed by Molly.

Violet Holmes was standing at a side table, pouring herself a drink. She was a tall woman of about 60, impeccably dressed in a blue, age-appropriate well cut dress and pearls. She had allowed her hair to grey which gave her an unmistakable air of Margaret Thatcher. She was only short the handbag. She put the drink down and approached the group.  
“Well, Sherlock, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I suppose “Mycroft made me do it” won’t cut it?” he asked hopefully.

“No, it won’t, you bad boy. I was heartbroken for days when I heard you had died. No note . Nothing.”

“It’s true, she had to take a holiday in France to recover, Sherlock,” remarked Mycroft, sarky as always.

Molly decided to take the bull by the horns. Extending her hand, she announced:

“Mrs Holmes, how do you do, I’m Molly Hooper.”

The woman turned her gaze on Molly. She discreetly flicked her eyes over Molly’s outfit and said finally “How do you do.”

Whatever else, she’s not without manners, thought Molly...shaking the elder woman’s hand firmly but briefly, as she’d always been taught.

“Drinks?” asked Mycroft.

“God, yes,” said Sherlock, uncharacteristically.

Mycroft busied himself at the sideboard.

“Oh come here to me,” said Violet, breaking character and holding out her arms to Sherlock. They embraced carefully, as if unaccustomed to it, and separated quickly.

“Let’s sit down. Mrs Burke will have supper ready soon and Miles will let us know.”

Molly was not surprised to be handed a gin and tonic, exactly to her liking, by Mycroft. He was undoubtedly a man of exceptional resources. Probably knew her preferred everything, she thought wryly.

He presented Sherlock with a Scotch on the rocks and had some sort of vodka himself.

Silence descended on the little gathering. It appeared small talk was not a Holmes family gift. Well, here goes, thought Molly.

“Mrs Holmes, Sherlock hasn’t told me much about you. What do you do?” she asked pleasantly.

“Well, it seems we have something in common, for he has told me nothing about you either. I am retired now, of course, but when I was younger, I worked in the intelligence service.”

“Gosh, that must have been a difficult job for a lady,” said Molly, admiringly.

“Indeed. I needed to be twice as good as the men just to get along.”

“I can understand that. My profession is also unusual for a woman.”

Violet leaned over to pick up her drink and Molly shot daggers at both Sherlock and Mycroft.

“Yes, ahem, Molly is the youngest and best pathologist in St Bartholomew’s Hospital, Mummy,” said Sherlock.

It was a long time since Molly had heard the full name of her hospital but then, she’d never seen Sherlock so uncomfortable.

“You’d hardly chose to work with someone mediocre,” she sniffed in response.

“What were you doing while you pretended to be dead?”

“Er, research mainly, tracking unsavoury elements down….” Sherlock was deliberately vague, whether it was for Molly’s benefit or his mother’s was unclear.

“We got it sorted in the end though,” added Mycroft, finally remembering his tongue.

“Indeed. I do think you might have let me in on the secret, children. One has signed the Official Secrets Act. Some 10 years before either of you was born.”

Suddenly Molly realised the problem. Violet Holmes wasn’t hurt by her son’s death and his brother’s collusion, she was pissed off that she’d been left out of the party! She snorted – couldn’t help herself – and quickly put her hand over her mouth as three pairs of eyes turned her way.

“I’m sorry. I just realised Mrs Holmes was frustrated not to have been involved,” she said and ploughing on, added: “I tell you it wasn’t any fun. I spent the whole year worrying that Mycroft’s PA would show up some evening to tell me Sherlock really was dead.”

“My dear, I would have myself,” said Mycroft expansively. And with that, the ice was broken, and everyone laughed.

Miles appeared silently in the room to announce that supper was served. “Supper” wasn’t a meal Molly was used to eating. It turned out to be dinner, but served in the kitchen. The kitchen itself was enormous, heated by an Aga with a massive scrubbed pine table in the centre. Mrs Burke, a cosy bustling housekeeper, had prepared a meal of macaroni and cheese, salad and wine. Molly thought it was a most peculiar combination but it soon became apparent that this was a traditional Friday evening feast in the Holmes household. As they imbibed, everyone seemed to relax a bit more.

“And so, Sherlock, it took faking your own death for you to realise you were interested in women,” she announced suddenly during a conversation lull.

Sherlock choked briefly on the wine he was drinking before reply.

“No, Mummy, I was never in any doubt…but I hadn’t bothered acting on it in some time.” He issued his best “this conversation is over” look but Violet was undaunted.

“She wore you down then?”

“I think it was proximity. He stayed with Molly for two weeks while he recovered from his quite genuine injuries from the jump,” explained Mycroft.

“Actually, it was neither. I just changed my mind – near death experiences have been known to do that. I’d always cared for Molly.”

“You just kept me dangling on a string because it suited you then,” Molly teased.

“Oh I like this one,” said Violet.

Molly squeezed Sherlock’s knee under the table and he did his best to hide his surprise with another sip of wine.

“Who’s for tea?” said Mycroft.

“Oh me, please, but not in one of your tiny cups!”

“I’m not sure we have any mugs, Molly.”

“Fine…3 cups for me then, please.”

Sherlock stood to assist Mycroft with the tea making, leaving Molly temporarily alone with Violet. She surprised the younger woman by reaching out and grasping her hand.

“You will be kind to him? He’s very trying but I can see he’s awfully keen on you,” she entreated.

“Of course. I’m quite keen on him too.”

“Well that’s settled. And do call me Violet.”

Soon after the tea, it was time to go. As the car drove away, Mycroft inclined his head towards Molly. “Brava, my dear, you did very well.”

Sherlock looked a bit shell-shocked. “She actually liked you. I can’t quite believe it.”

“I told you I was good with parents. I think we’ll count this as a win for me.”

“Oh that’s hardly fair, Molly, your parents aren’t around for me to reciprocate!”

“I think my Dad would secretly like you….but he’s dead, so tough, I win. You can still have a prize though.”  
“And that’s my cue to get out of here,” said Mycroft. He tapped on the partition window and announced he would walk from there, while Molly and Sherlock decided to take full advantage of what was left of the limo ride.


	10. The Friend Veto (part 1)

As Sherlock let himself into Molly’s flat – she had insisted on giving him a key after he’d picked the lock one too many times – he could hear she was on the phone in the kitchen. Deducing the other half of a phone call was one of his favourite games so he sat down on the couch and listened.

“….well, now we’re together.”

So she’s telling someone about us.

“No, I know, that’s all in the past.”

???

“I mean, yes, of course, he used to behave appallingly badly towards me but I always hoped it was because he was confused by his feelings.”

Ouch.

“No, he hasn’t really changed, but he’s behaving a lot better now. Ha! You would say that. Of course sex helps. Anyway, so that’s my main news….what do you mean we’re not done with this topic?...oh I really don’t think that’s necessary….I think he would have liked him…no, I do. That’s a mean thing to say, Alice….”

Alice? Obviously an old friend. Don’t recall Molly mentioning her before but possibly deleted it.

“Coming to London? That’s a coincidence! You decide to stir outside Cheshire for the first time in 5 years at the exact same time that I tell you I have a new boyfriend? It has not been that long since I had a boyfriend, shut up!”

She’s not really angry with her – tone is teasing.

“Alright, well, email me with your arrival time and I’ll meet you at the train station. Ok. I will. Talk soon. Bye.”

Molly emerged from the kitchen with a mug of tea.

“Hello, Sherlock…did you have fun eavesdropping?”

“I nearly always have fun eavesdropping. So your friend Alice is coming down to sign off on me?”

Molly swallowed her surprise with some tea.

“Yes, and if she doesn’t like you, you’re dumped.”

Sherlock laughed, at least until he saw how serious Molly looked.

“You are joking.”

“Not really, no. She and I have always had veto powers on significant others. Her husband actually sought my blessing after he asked Alice to marry him. Luckily for him, I had already approved him at boyfriend stage.”

“That does seem rather a lot of power to give one’s friend…especially one you’ve never mentioned before and clearly haven’t seen in quite some time.”

“Actually, I saw her just 3 months ago. Didn’t Mycroft’s surveillance tell you I went to Chester for a weekend?” replied Molly smartly.

“Er, maybe…”

“So she’s coming in 2 weeks time. I really want you to win this one, Sherlock.”

She put down her cup and sat on his knee.

“I’m quite fond of you, and if Alice says no, I’ll be very upset about breaking up with you. Would probably mean you’d have to find another lab too,” she said solemnly.

She cupped his cheek and drew his face towards her for a kiss. Sherlock threw his arms around her and reciprocated but his brain was already whirring with activity. First, there would be research on this Alice, and then he’d decide the perfect way to win her over. For now though, he could continue to win over his girlfriend.

oOo

Between Molly being scheduled at ungodly hours and a case that took Sherlock and John to Devon, they didn’t see much of each other for the next few days. Sherlock had found time to call in a favour and worked up a dossier on Alice. John had remarked that he shouldn’t refer to it as a dossier in front of Molly and Sherlock took this advice to heart.

The facts were simple. Alice was a year older than Molly and they had been childhood neighbours and friends in Norfolk. They had both been only children. Though university had taken them in opposite directions, they had worked hard to maintain a friendship, and once the internet had taken hold, this had been easier. Alice had married young, to a country vet and they now lived near Chester with their 2 year old son, Tommy. Molly had been bridesmaid at their wedding and was godmother to the child. Now that Sherlock thought about it, she did have a photograph of a small boy on her desk at work. Going through her albums when she wasn’t home, he realised that Alice was the closest thing Molly had to family now her parents were gone.

On Thursday, the day before Alice was due to arrive, Molly landed in Baker St after work, laden with food Sherlock liked. The case was over, so she knew he’d be starving. There was plenty for John too, and god knows, she was going to need all the help possible for what she had to ask.

“Evening! I brought Chinese.”

Sherlock looked up.

“Is there dim sum?” he asked hopefully.

“Meat and vegetables…of course, my love, I know what you like.”

She kissed him briefly and then hurried into the kitchen to get plates. John ambled in behind her to assist.

“Did the case go well?” she wondered.

“Yes, very satisfactory – I’ll be writing up later.”

“Oh what’s the title this time?”

“Sic Transit Gloria Scott.”

“What does it mean?”

“You’ll just have to wait and read the blog post!” said John, primly.

“Whatever, here’s some food. I’ve got some buttering up to do.”

“Why?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see….but I would appreciate some back up.”

“When?”

“It will be immediately obvious.”

John nodded, sure he was about to be at least entertained.

He was not wrong.

The three happily devoured the food. Soon, Sherlock and Molly sat snuggling on the couch. It was a sight John was still getting used to. But then, he thought, he was still getting used to having Sherlock back too.

“Sherlock?” said Molly, in the universal “I want something” voice.

“Hmm…”

“Are you looking forward to meeting Alice tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“I’m really glad to hear you say that.”

“Why?” said Sherlock, sharply.

“Jeremy – that’s her husband – broke his leg earlier this week.”

“And she’s already sick of nursing him, so thrilled to be getting away?”

“Not quite. They’ve no one to mind Tommy – Jeremy’s barely able to dress himself - so I said we would go to Cheshire to visit them.”

Silence filled the room.

John grinned broadly down at the floor. No wonder she wanted backup.

“You said what?” replied Sherlock loudly.

“I said we’d take a train up to Chester tomorrow afternoon. We can rent a car once we get there – they’re a bit outside of town.”

Molly spoke casually but this was the moment she was dreading. John decided to intervene.

“That’s ideal, Molly. He was just saying this morning that he needed to relax for a couple of days after this last case.”

“No, I didn’t. I’ve never wanted to relax in my life!”

Molly flashed her lovely smile at John and then turned to face her boyfriend.

“Perfect. Give me your laptop and I’ll book the train tickets now…save us having to queue tomorrow.”

“Hang on a second, I haven’t agreed to this.”

John tried to warn him with a look but it was no good.

“So you don’t want to come then?” said Molly, her voice suddenly meek.

“Er, well, I didn’t say that.”

“This is really important to me, Sherlock. It’s not like you have anything particular to do this weekend.”

“Lestrade might call with a case,” he said, rather hopelessly.

“I’ll tell him not to.”

Sherlock’s eyes bulged with the notion that Molly would do such a thing.

“Where’s your computer? In your room? I’ll just go grab it.” She hopped up off the couch and dashed out.

“Sherlock, you better go. This is important to her and you really don’t have any good excuse.”

“We’ll have to invent one. You’ll call me when we’re on the way to the station to say a client has called…something urgent.”

“Fair enough, but it’ll be your funeral, mate.” And then he snorted out a laugh, which Sherlock joined him in.

Molly reappeared brandishing the laptop.

“There’s one at 2pm. We’ll be there by 5.

“Super. I can’t wait,” trilled Sherlock in his best fake excited voice.

“It’ll be a like a mini-break!” Molly agreed happily.

She looked back at the computer and Sherlock’s fake smile dropped immediately. He rolled his eyes at John briefly.

“So I think we should stay somewhere nearby but not with them…I don’t want to make it more difficult for Alice. There’s a nice country house hotel about 5 miles away…how does that sound?”

Sherlock hmmed in the affirmative and Molly booked them a nice suite. Why not?

Molly decided not to stay the night at Baker St. Sherlock looked rather forlorn at the news. He was getting used to waking up beside her: it was lovely – but he’d rather die again than admit it.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have all weekend together. The hotel suite has a huge big bath in it.”

“I’m still here, you do realise?” said John loudly.

“Fine, Molly, I’ll walk you downstairs out of the view of my suddenly squeamish flatmate.”

When they reached the door, Molly hugged Sherlock. Her earnest brown eyes looked up at him.

“I’m so glad you want to come to Chester. It means a lot to me.”  
Damn it, he thought, she’s playing the sentimental card…and it’s bloody well working.

He decided actions spoke louder than words so he leaned down and kissed her gently. She exhaled against his lips “more of that, please.” Sherlock was all too willing to oblige. They stood snogging on the doorstep for some minutes, swaying slightly to their own internal rhythm. Eventually, Mrs Hudson came out of her ground floor flat.

“Oi, Sherlock, you’re letting all the heat out. Either bring her back upstairs or say goodnight!”

“Sorry, Mrs Hudson,” called Molly. “I’d better get going. I’ll meet you at the station at a quarter to 2 tomorrow. Don’t be late!”

She stuck her hand out to hail a cab and one appeared, as if by magic, to take her away.

Sherlock walked slowly back upstairs. John was waiting for him.

“So – a mini-break then, and approval from her best friend. This is serious!” he teased.

“Quiet. I’ve seen you write poetry for women – this is nothing.”

“Don’t you know that mini-breaks mean love?”

“What nonsense is this?”

“It’s the sagacity of one Miss Bridget Jones. Women like Molly will be well up on her wisdom and it never did any man any harm to be either. It would be of more help if we all looked like Mr Darcy too but no one’s perfect.”

“Am I supposed to know who these people are? Is she another vaguely famous person on a reality show?”

John handed him a laptop – the browser was open on amazon.co.uk’s page for Bridget Jones’ Diary.

“I’d put it on your kindle – for the train journey.”

“I won’t be going on the train, John…now, listen while I tell you the cover story.”

John, like Sherlock, had perfected the art of pretending to listen while really doing something else entirely, so he didn’t hear the cover story. But then, he had no intention of making the call…

Of course, it took until Molly and Sherlock were on the train now moving away from Euston station that he realised the extent of his flatmate’s betrayal. And he could say nothing at all. The best he could do was send an ambiguous “you bastard” text to John. Since only mortals required sleep, Sherlock had taken the time to read Miss Jones’ chronicle. Horrified did not cover it. And now he was on a mini-break.

Molly snuggled into Sherlock happily. Their carriage was relatively empty and no one sat opposite or beside them. She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Clearly, there’s something.”

“Well, I’ve just always had this fantasy about doing it on a train. And this carriage is pretty empty.” She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed.

“Molly Hooper! Are you mad? People don’t have sex on trains!” said Sherlock, in a furious whisper.

“I’m sure they do! Probably in the disabled toilets nowadays. It’s a pity we’re not on one of those old-fashioned carriage trains…you know, like the Hogwarts Express.”

“That may be the case, but we won’t be joining the, er, 10ft high club on this train journey.”

“You know what the Mile High Club is?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You didn’t know the Earth went round the Sun. I’m just constantly amazed at what is kept and what is deleted.”

“I thought it might be relevant for crime someday.”

“Crime? Right,” grinned Molly. She stroked his thigh again and nuzzled into him. “It’s going to be a long journey…I’m bored.”

“Oh will you stop it?! It’s going to be 2 hours…which is by no means a long journey. Get out your book.”

“Do you promise to be nice to me later at the hotel?”

“I’m always nice to you.”

“I’ll dispute that another time…I meant “nice”.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” Sherlock replied, somewhat awkwardly. He still wasn’t used to having a sex life, let alone discussing it publically.

They settled down to read their books. Sherlock also devised several elaborate payback schemes for John, and then some schemes for being “nice” to Molly.  
As predicted, within 2 hours, they arrived at Chester and after a short scuffle about who would drive, set off in a rented Ford Focus. Molly was driving.

“It just makes sense. I know where they live.”

“You could have directed me! I don’t get to drive very often.”

“Nothing is stopping you from having a car….your taxi habit could easily be exchanged for car tax, insurance, congestion charges and petrol, Sherlock.”

He mumbled something about parking while unfolding a map of the local area.

“So I thought we’d check in first at the hotel, and then go down to Alice’s by 7pm. Tommy will be going to bed then, so they’ll be able to relax.”

Rowton Hall was only a few minutes away by car and they were soon pulling into the car park. Sherlock loitered in the lobby while Molly checked them in.

“Right, I’ve got the key, let’s go.”

She led the way to a suite larger than either of their individual apartments. The decoration was contemporary but featured a four poster bed with curtains, a seating area and large en suite with a huge bath.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Molly enthused.

“It’s adequate, I suppose.”

“Adequate? It’s fantastic. Look at this bed. And this enormous bath!”

Sherlock laid his bag down on the bed and moved to take out his laptop. Molly had other ideas.

“Ooof…we seem to have tumbled on to the bed, Sherlock!”

“Yes. Could you get off me please?”

“You’ve never said that before, Mr Holmes.”

“Hmm…perhaps not.”

Sherlock drew his arms around Molly’s waist and flipped them over.

“It would be a shame to waste such a fine bed…” he was finally copping on.

Molly smiled. Pulling Sherlock down to her, she licked her lips and then kissed him.

He pulled away quickly and kissed his way down her neck. Molly shivered with excitement. As her eyes began to close to better experience the sensation, she glanced at the clock.  
“Oh crap!”

Sherlock lifted his head up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, get up off me though.”

“Why? I thought we were going to test this lovely bed out.” Sherlock stroked her cheek before returning to her neck.

“No, no time for that now…we have to change and get going.”

“But it’s only 6pm…I thought you wanted to be there for 7,” Sherlock’s voice was thick with confusion and desire.

“No, I said Tommy would be in bed by 7. Obviously I want to see my godson before he goes to sleep!”

Sherlock reluctantly stood up and straightened his clothes. If some random child could take Molly’s attention this easily, they were never having any of their own!

10 minutes later they were back in the car and on their way to Alice and Jeremy’s house, which was a comfortable old rectory with a large garden and gravel driveway. As they pulled up, the front door opened and a woman with short bobbed hair flew out. Molly parked quickly and got out of the car. The two women hugged each other tightly. Unnoticed by them, a small pyjama-wearing boy emerged from the house and toddled up to the car.

Sherlock walked around the car and waited politely (for once) to be introduced. The small boy looked up at him and then over at Molly.

“Molly,” he announced.

Sherlock didn’t quite know what to do with such an obvious statement but was saved the decision as Molly swooped down and collected the little boy in her arms.

“Oh hello, Tommy, how are you?”

Alice grinned at the spectacle and turned to Sherlock.

“Hi, you must be Sherlock. Welcome,” she said politely. He thought he detected a hint of coolness but now was not the time for deductions. Out loud anyway.

“And you must be Alice. Thanks for allowing us to visit – we could have easily postponed until Jeremy was better.”

“Not at all…it’s no trouble since you’re not staying with us. Let’s get in out of the cold. The kettle’s on.”

They all went into the house, where Sherlock was introduced to the couch-bound Jeremy. He was seated in the kitchen, obviously the main room of the house. Molly and Alice chatted happily while Tommy wandered in and out of the room. He kept looking over at Sherlock – the only stranger – and eventually came up to him. Most people know how to interact with very small children, but Sherlock was not most people.

“Hello,” he said, awkwardly.

“Hi.”

At least this one wasn’t shy! thought Sherlock.

Molly came over. “Tommy: this is my friend Sherlock.”

Tommy presented Sherlock with half a soggy biscuit he had in his hand.

Alice stepped in with kitchen roll.

“Oh god, sorry, Sherlock…”

“It’s fine, no one ever died of biscuits…”

Alice looked at him sharply.

“But of course, you did die, or at least, appeared to.”

“Yes, I’m sure Molly explained the circumstances.”

“She did. I have to admit though, when I heard you had died initially, I was relieved.”

“Alice! That’s a terrible thing to say,” cried Molly.

“I’ve always been plain-spoken, Molly, and from you’ve told me of him, Sherlock appreciates that.” Turning to address him, she continued. “Frankly, it always sounded like you treated our Molly abominably. Ordering her about in her workplace, complimenting her when it suited your purpose, being mean, possibly just for the fun of it. There was a Christmas about 2 years ago, where I ate a cold dinner because I had talk Molly down off a ledge after you said something. The exact significance of it was lost on me but it was not ok.”

She paused to draw breath and went on making the tea. Molly shot Sherlock a warning look – do not respond, she’s not done. Jeremy who had been mostly silent until now, tried to intercede.

“Well, love, that’s all in the past now.”

“But is it?! After years of listening to your bad behaviour, I now discover that you’ve suddenly had a total about face and apparently are in a loving relationship with Molly. What is your game? You can’t just mess her around like that.”  
Alice stood, arms akimbo, waiting for a response now. Sherlock would have liked to shout at her and storm out but clearly this was a time for Mycroft-level diplomacy.

“Alice, it’s true that in the past I may have exploited Molly for my own purposes but I never gave a compliment that I didn’t genuinely mean. In truth, I hadn’t much time for personal relationships until a few years ago…I was a loner and it suited me. But the changes in my life that directly led to my having to fake my own death also meant that I had changed fundamentally. I’ll never be someone with 1000 Facebook friends but the ones I have are important to me. And no one is as important as Molly. But I’m afraid until you get to know me better, you’ll just have to take my word, and hers, for it.”

Molly was quite touched by his speech…she had been worried how he would behave and had expected Alice to blow up like this. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.

Alice did not respond directly but announced “who wants cake?” indicating that the interrogation was over for now.

“Tommy!” replied her son. He eyed Sherlock holding Molly’s hand and said “my Molly.” He tried to take her hand. Even Sherlock was a little charmed.

“Oh, Tommy, you have to share me now.”

Jeremy looked relieved that his wife had calmed down. He began to ask Sherlock about his work.

“I’ve read your blog…you know, I have to admit, I thought you and John Watson were a couple for a while.”

“Many people do,” smiled Sherlock back at him. If he had a pound for every time someone had said that…

“Alice, did I tell you we’re staying at Roxton Hall?”

“Oh nice one – it’s fantastic. We were at a wedding there last year but we couldn’t justify the expense of staying the night when it was so close.”

Soon it was time for Tommy to go to bed…with some small protest. Molly promised to come back tomorrow and he was pacified.

Jeremy pointed to the far kitchen wall.

“Sherlock, I won’t get up to show you but there’s several photos of Molly on the wall up there that might amuse you.”

“Oh no, don’t look! I was very unfortunate as a teenager.”

“I’m sure you weren’t – apart from the braces you obviously wore.”

“How do you know that?” asked Jeremy, astonished.

“Her teeth are unnaturally straight – it can only have been orthodontics.”

As he expected, he saw a variety of photos of Molly through the years – a cute one of two young girls holding hands, another of 2 grumpy looking grungy teenagers – Molly indeed wearing braces, and a lot of black eye makeup.

“So you had a grunge phase? I couldn’t have deduced that. Nothing in your flat suggests it so you must have gotten over it and not even retained the music.”

“Actually, you heard me say before I’ve got lots of stuff in storage – my flat’s tiny.”

He nodded.

Alice came back into the room.

“Ah, have we reached the embarrassing Molly stage of the evening? Excellent. We’ll need wine.”

She opened a bottle of red and poured 3 glasses.

“You don’t mind driving later, do you, Sherlock?” asked Molly.

“Not at all.”

“Tell me, did you see Nancy’s post on Facebook, Molly?”

“No, I’m not much on it. What did she say?”

“Oh, god, it’s awful. She wants to have a reunion!”

“No! Where the hell – like back in Norfolk?”

“Yes!”

“Who’s Nancy?” questioned Sherlock.

“Oh, you’ll get used to this, Sherlock. They’ll talk now for hours about people we’ve never heard of without clarification,” explained Jeremy. “Best thing to do is just get drunk…oh, sorry, man.”

“I’m sure I’ll cope.”

Molly and Alice were now talking about someone called Robert, whose second wife had just left him for a woman.

“Oh Jeremy, go get my photo album from our bedroom.”

“Have you forgotten that I broke my leg?”  
“Ooops – I did. Possibly too much wine already…I’ll go myself.”

She left the room. Molly took the opportunity to cuddle into Sherlock briefly.

“Sherlock hates public affection,” she said to Jeremy.

“I do not…I just don’t see the point of it.”

Alice returned once more, holding a large purple photograph album. She waved her hand to indicate Molly and Sherlock should separate so she could sit between them.

“Ok. Here we go. This is all photos of Molly and me over the years. This is us aged 4 and 5, not long after my family moved onto the road.”

Sherlock nodded politely…looking at other people’s photographs was tedious.

“Ah! I can’t believe you still have this one of us at the zoo,” shouted Molly.

The two girls, now aged about 9, were seated on an elephant.

“Not really pc to get elephant rides anymore. Gosh, do you remember the smell of it?”

Sherlock soon found that comments were not required, and probably for the best if he ever wanted to shag Molly again. He could get away with “hmms” and “oh yes” comments. By the time they’d gone through the whole album, ending with Molly’s most recent visit to Cheshire, the ladies had gone through a whole bottle of wine.

“Alice, lovie, I hate to point out that Tommy won’t care if you have a hangover tomorrow when he wants his 6am breakfast, and you know I’m not much help right now.”

“Of course, perhaps we should head back to the hotel, Molly,” offered Sherlock.

Molly stood up unsteadily but ready to acquiesce.

“What time will we come back tomorrow?”

“How about in time for lunch – say 1:30?” suggested Alice.

“Great. Can’t wait to spend some more time with Tommy.”

They said their goodbyes and Sherlock drove a tipsy Molly back to the hotel.

“I think that went as well as could be expected,” she said.

“Really? I thought she might actually bite my head off.”

“Nonsense. Her bark’s worse than her bite. She’ll come to love you like I do. And speaking of which, we get to enjoy that lovely bed now.”  
“I doubt you’ll be able,” remarked Sherlock dryly.

“What? Challenge accepted.”

However, this was a challenge too far for Dr Hooper. By the time, they hit their room, she just about managed to lie down on the bed before she was asleep, leaving Sherlock to remove her shoes and tuck her under the covers. Day one had gone reasonably ok….but who knew what tomorrow would bring?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, this is only part one of this particular episode but it was starting to get to epic levels, so the second part will be up before the end of the week. Hope you’re enjoying: thanks for all the reviews & follows. And thanks as always to my lovely proofreader – she’s entered the darkside of writing Dramione, and it’s really quite good so check out Thinkswithpen if that’s your OTP – your other one, obviously.


	11. The Friend Veto (part 2)

The room came into focus to the tune of softly tapping fingers on a keyboard. Molly blinked her eyes several times as she remembered where she was. Reaching her hand up to rub her eye, it came away with make-up. The memory of a lot of laughs and wine came back to her. She was still wearing her clothes from the night before.

“Sherlock?”

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

“Bit of a headache….”

“Shame…”

“Why?”

“I thought we might try out that bath.”

Molly sat up in the bed. 

“I’m sure, after some fried food, I’d be well able to have a bath. Shall we get room service?”

“Go right ahead,” said Sherlock, with a smirk on his face.

He was seated at the table on the opposite of the room, wrapped in a sheet, while he worked on his laptop.

Molly ordered a full breakfast for the two of them and then went into the bathroom in an attempt to feel more human. Eventually she returned, now wearing a hotel bathrobe and made her way across the room.

“What time is it?” she asked, putting her arms around him from behind.

“Half 10 – we weren’t actually out that late last night. Plenty of time before we need to be back at their house.”

“What did you think of them?” asked Molly curiously.

Sherlock sighed. He was slowly learning that Molly didn’t always want the full unvarnished truth. Sherlock pulled Molly down on to his knee.

“Alice is fiercely protective of the people she loves. Most people would baulk at addressing a total stranger the way she talked to me. Still, I suppose having a friend who cares too much is better than one who doesn’t care at all.”

“Alice is like family to me. She was there for me when my mum died as a kid and when Dad died a few years ago, she came straight away. She’s the sister I never had. I think you should be able to understand that – Mycroft cares very deeply for you – he has a funny way of showing it: surveillance, asking your friends to spy, etc, but it’s all obviously done because he loves you.”

“You’re wrong about Mycroft: he does it because he likes to be in control. And because Mummy would be angry if he let anything happen to me.”

“No, you’re wrong, Sherlock. He loves you – classic much older brother symptoms.”

A knock at the door heralded the food, which Sherlock tucked into happily, and Molly nibbled at.

“So what torture are you inflicting on me later?” enquired Sherlock once they were finished.

“Nothing too strenuous…we, well not Jeremy, poor thing, but the rest of us are going for a walk in the woods after lunch…and then we’ll probably spend the evening at their house again.”

It did sound torturous but Sherlock kept his opinion to himself. He chose instead to go into the enormous bathroom and inspect the tub. It was nearly Jacuzzi sized, but traditionally shaped, so two people were going to fit in it comfortably. It did actually have jets as well. He turned on the taps and poured whatever bubble bath in that the hotel had provided. When it was ready, Molly had not appeared. Sherlock pouted.

“Molly, here I am trying to make an effort and you are in there, looking up your old school friends on Facebook. I thought you wanted a proper weekend away?!”

“I’ll be right there.”

He threw off his sheet and sat down in the bath alone, slightly huffy. Five more minutes elapsed before Molly tore herself away from the computer.

Sherlock was lying in the bath – filled with bubbles. His hair was curling more than usual from the heat and his head rested on the edge of the tub, eyes closed. It was a wondrous sight.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was missing this scene?” she demanded, untying her bathrobe and shucking it to the ground. She wore nothing beneath it.

“You seemed otherwise occupied – and I, perhaps wrongly, presumed that you knew I was in the bath waiting for you.”

“I hope it was worth the wait….” she said coyly. “Move up, I want to sit behind you.”

“Nope, I’m comfortable now, you’ll just have to squeeze in somehow.”

Molly stepped into the bath and stood in front of Sherlock. She paused, adjusting to the temperature. Sherlock reached one wet hand up and grabbed her arse and pulled her down. 

“Damn you, my hair is loose, Sherlock.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You do realise you are submerged in water, your hair will get wet whether you tie it up or not. Besides, I love seeing it loose like this – you remind me of a mermaid or something.”

Molly giggled and placed her hair over her boobs. Sherlock quickly swept it out of the view.

“I didn’t say a modest Victorian mermaid!”

Molly sat down between his legs and rested her head on his chest.

“This is nice. Do you think there’s room in either of our apartments for a bath like this?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“That is a tragedy. We’ll have to move here.”

“Seems a bit extreme…we could just find somewhere big enough in London?” replied Sherlock.

Molly turned around to look at her boyfriend.

“Are you suggesting we move in together?” she queried excitedly.

“Em, apparently, well, not immediately…but we already spend several nights a week together; it just makes sense.”

“Hmm, I think I might faint from the romance of it all,” said Molly sardonically. She settled back against him. Sherlock’s hands started to trace patterns on her stomach and chest. In turn, Molly stroked his thighs up and down causing the beginnings of arousal in Sherlock.

“Hey, I didn’t sign up for being poked in the back by your erection!”

“It’s hardly my fault!”  
Molly twisted away from his ministrations and sat at the other end of the bath, eyeing him.

“Where are you going?” cried Sherlock.

“I wanted some visual stimulation.” Molly leaned back against the opposite end of the tub and put the soles of her feet together, allowing her knees to separate. She placed her hands on her own stomach.

“Go on, entertain me,” she encouraged.

Sherlock swallowed thickly. “What?” he asked, stupidly.

“I want to watch you touch yourself.”

“I’m not doing that in front of you!”

“Why not? I’m going to…” said Molly, cheekily. Sherlock groaned loudly as she reached her hands underneath the water. Between the jets and the bubbles, he wasn’t going to get a decent view of her actions but it was ridiculously exciting nonetheless. He tentatively reached for his cock and gave himself a few experimental strokes. This facet of Molly was new, he mused. She was much more likely to do something out of character outside her comfort zone of London. This would have to be tested. He watched as she kneaded her own breasts, nipples hardening just on the water line. 

“Molly, come here,” he pleaded softly.

She decided to give in and made her way back across the short distance between them but this time she straddled his legs facing him.

“You were too far away,” he mumbled, rubbing her back as Molly arched into his touch. The steam of the bath was making her skin glow. “You look beautiful.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m going to have sex with you,” she playfully slapped his cheek and kissed him briefly.

“Yes, but it’s still true.”

Silence fell over them as they began to make love. It was rather messy – water splashing everywhere but neither cared. Molly, being on top, was making most of the mess. Sherlock watched as she sought out her own pleasure, so engrossed that she seemed not to notice his input but right before she orgasmed, she reached for his lips and kissed him fiercely, causing a corresponding reaction in him. Sherlock pulled her tightly to him as he rode out his own pleasure. He kissed her on the forehead as she finally relaxed against him.

“We’re definitely getting a bath.”

oOo

Molly made a half-hearted attempt to clean the bathroom up after their bath. Sherlock did not bother helping. Before long they were on the road, after another brief driving-related scuffle and this time Molly was feeling generous, so she let him win.

They arrived at Alice’s house for 1230. Tommy was out in the garden riding a little tractor. 

“Molly!” he exclaimed, and came running up to her. She bent down to give him a hug.

“Aren’t you going to say hi to my friend, Sherlock – you remember you met him yesterday?”

“Hi.”

“Good afternoon,” replied Sherlock, stiffly.

“You really need to relax around him. Kids can sense fear!”

“I’m not afraid of him…I’m just not accustomed to conversing with proto-verbal toddlers. He has nothing useful to say.”

“Fine, let’s go inside,” said Molly.

Alice and Jeremy greeted them warmly.

“How’s your head this morning?” asked Jeremy.

“She was a bit rough but rallied well after breakfast,” answered Sherlock, throwing Molly a private grin.

“Yes, might need to wait until late afternoon before we open another bottle, Aly.”

“Agreed. Tommy had me awake at 7 asking for cornflakes.”

Lunch was a noisy affair, eaten around the coffee table to better include Jeremy.

“So I was thinking we’d go for a walk in the woods behind the house.”

“Perfect,” agreed Molly. “I’ll grab Tommy’s buggy.”

Coats were donned. Tommy had a small tantrum while being strapped into the buggy. 

“Tommy wants to walk.”

It was the longest sentence Sherlock had heard him say yet. He bent down to the boy and said

“Maybe just sit in the chair for now and then I’ll help you escape later.”

Tommy smiled a big toothy grin up at him.

They walked towards the woods, and Sherlock soon found again that he was surplus to requirements. He zoned in and out of the conversation, until he realised Molly was telling Alice about the bath in their suite, and then decided he’d better pay attention.

“So you’re not working outside the home right now, Alice? Do you miss the gym?”

“No, I took an extended unpaid maternity leave. How do you know I’m a gym instructor?”

“Molly told me.”

“No, I didn’t. See, Alice, this is what I’m talking about. He can probably tell by the way you walk or something. He does this all the time!”

Sherlock kept schtum – John would be proud.

“I do miss the gym though – Tommy helps keep me fit but I miss the interaction with grown-ups. He’ll be going to a Montessori in September, so I’ll be returning to work then.”

Somewhere along the way, Sherlock found himself pushing the buggy – not an activity he ever expected to engage in, but then, he thought, looking at Molly…some activities were not necessarily a chore. Tommy kept looking around at him. The stranger in the midst seemed to fascinate him. 

“Tommy out,” he stated. Sherlock glanced at Alice and Molly some 100 yards ahead, lost in their own conversation. He thought it wouldn’t do any harm to let the child out, so he undid the straps and lifted Tommy out.

“Now, you have to hold my hand.”

Tommy was quite happy to reach up and hold Sherlock’s hand, while he pushed the buggy with his other. Every now and then he would exclaim “birdie” or “tree”. Sherlock found it was best to agree with him and before long was explaining the complex art of dendrochronology to the child, who listened, enraptured but not understanding a word.

Molly looked back and saw Sherlock walking along with Tommy. 

“Don’t look around now, Alice, but Tommy has totally won over Sherlock. Or perhaps the other way around.”

Alice waited a decent pause and then checked out the scene. Like many a mother before her, she was converted by her child’s trust of the interloper, and she decided she’d better give him a real chance.

“You’re really serious about him?” she probed.

“Absolutely. He’s the one…whether he wants to be or not.”

“Well, he must want to be. I’d guess he’s pretty far outside his comfort zone right now.”

“Hell yes. Which reminds me.” Molly took out her phone and snapped a couple of photos.

“The guys will never believe me back home!”

“Do you see a future with him?”

Molly laughed. “An unconventional one, yes.”

“Kids?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s early days. Being an “aunt” is enough for now.”

Alice knew better than to push with Molly so wisely changed the subject to more gossip.

Eventually Sherlock caught up with them. 

“Tommy keeps asking for a drink, Alice.”

“Right, we’d better get him home. He’ll need a nap soon. Have you been having a nice chat with Sherlock? she said, addressing her son. He gave an exaggerated nod, with the proud smile of someone who had recently learnt that this could replace words. They headed back to the house and Molly offered to push the buggy, leaving Sherlock and Alice to stroll ahead a little. Once again she proved her direct nature.

“She really cares about you.”

“I know,” he answered.

“You better treat her right.”

“I endeavour to all the time…I do care about her too.”

“Good, because you’re stuck with her for life. And she is a keeper.”

He nodded, outwardly calm but his mind filled with the ramifications.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly for the group and slowly for Sherlock. Keeping up the “normal” façade was a chore for this length of time and he was only too delighted to take a tipsy Molly back to the hotel for a second night. Alice and Molly’s goodbye was a little weepy, as they’d agreed there was no point in meeting up the following morning.

“I’ll miss you.”  
“You could visit more often!”

“You could too!”

“Well, call me during the week.”

“I will. Love you all.”

Sherlock had had all day, and as it turned out, all night to ponder Alice’s words. While he was relieved that she more or less approved of him, her warning about having Molly for life seemed rather fatalistic. 

“You’re quiet,” quizzed Molly, when they were finally on the train back to London.

“Alice said I was stuck with you for life,” he said, taking a leaf out of her book.

“Did she? I may have to kill her. How does that sound?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“I foresee no interest in other women. Life with you doesn’t scare me.”

“Jeez, don’t overwhelm me with your excitement, Sherlock!”

He gripped her knee.

“You misunderstand. Molly, my line of work attracts enemies, you know that. I may not always be able to protect you!”

“Don’t come over all macho suddenly, Sherlock. Have you so quickly forgotten that you needed me to fight the dragon last time? I may not always be able to protect you – but I’ll do my best.”

Sherlock laughed. Perhaps he was over-reacting a little. 

“It doesn’t have to be lightning speed though: I like where we are right now,” she added. “Except for one thing…”

“What’s that?”

“I still really want to do it on the train…”


	12. The Pub Quiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a couple of similar requests, I thought this idea might go down well…it helps that I love pub quizzes, so I have a lot of, er, research done. Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review and follow this story.

Now that Sherlock was officially approved by the only person whose opinion mattered to Molly, their relationship settled down. Well, it settled down as much as it could when one person had a crazy and unpredictable job and the other worked shifts.

John was due to meet Sherlock at the morgue to look at a recent victim. As he strolled through the corridors of the hospital, he stopped to read a notice board. Reading other people’s signs and messages always amused John. He liked to find out what they thought was interesting or note-worthy. He was rewarded by a sign from a long-term patient who’d lost her favourite bedpan and wanted it back. She was willing to give £50 to the finder! Another sign, for a table quiz raising funds for the hospital, also interested John. He made a note of the date and location before continuing on to the morgue.

On arrival, the place was empty. There was a covered body on the table, obviously ready for examination, but no sign of the good pathologist or his flatmate. John took out his phone and texted “where are you? I’m at the morgue” only to hear Sherlock’s distinctive message chime on the lab bench beside him. Of course, he should have noticed his coat and scarf hanging up on the door but John did not pay attention to these sort of minutiae. But now that he had noticed, he also saw that the door to Molly’s office was closed. 

“I am standing out here in the lab, doing nothing, and deliberately not coming into the office,” he announced, quite loudly, to the empty room.

Almost immediately, the door opened and Sherlock strode out. 

“Ah there you are, what kept you?” he asked.

John’s face answered “you’ve some cheek asking me that” as Molly also came out of the office, putting her lab coat back on and flashing an only mildly embarrassed smile at her fellow doctor.

They got to work on the victim. Apart from an interesting anatomically correct flower tattoo, there was nothing to note from the initial examination. Molly would have results over the next couple of days.

Before they left, John broached the subject of the table quiz.

“Did you see, Molly, there’s a table quiz next Thursday to raise funds for the hospital? I was thinking we should all go.”

Sherlock gave a derisive snort, which was exactly what John hoped for.

“What’s wrong with charity table quizzes?” demanded Molly.  
“Nothing, if you don’t mind mediocre entertainment, disputes over ambiguous questions and other people’s unwanted wine.”

“Well too bad, Sherlock, because we are going. I happen to love pub quizzes. John: I presume we need a fourth person. Any thoughts?”

“Hmm. Lestrade could be good. Or Mrs Hudson,” he mused.

“Mrs Hudson?!” scoffed Sherlock.

“Actually, Mrs Hudson is an excellent choice. She’ll have a totally different knowledge base to the rest of us. We’re over-loaded with science,” countered Molly.

“Great. I’ll ask her when I get home later. I’m just going to go wait in the corridor for you, Sherlock.”

“Why? I’m coming with you now.”

“Ahem. Sherlock. He’s being tactful so your girlfriend can kiss you goodbye. Although, she doesn’t think you much deserve it right now.”

He scowled but remained in place and silent. John left the room.

“Do all relationships involve having to do things one doesn’t like?”

“Of course they do! But usually you’re trying to meet each other in the middle. Now give me a kiss and off you go.”

Sherlock absent-mindedly gave her a quick peck and swept out of the room.

Could have done that in front of John, thought Molly.

***

The table quiz was to be held in the nearby hotel’s ballroom. Mrs Hudson had readily agreed to make up the fourth while protesting that she didn’t know anything useful. The stage area was setup with a big screen projector and held a row of correctors. The emcee for the evening was a surprise: Mike Stamford.

“Mike! I didn’t know you’d been roped into this,” exclaimed Molly, rushing up to him.

“Well, I’m useless at general knowledge so I thought this would be a better contribution.”

“Who wrote the questions?” asked John.

“A range of different people, so the rounds will be themed. I think we’ve got a good mix. Is that Sherlock over there? How did you get him to grace us with his presence?”  
“Molly said she wouldn’t sleep with him anymore if he didn’t!” joked John. 

“Too much information, no need to over-share!” cried Stamford, putting his hands over his ears.

Meanwhile, Mrs Hudson and Sherlock were selecting a table.

“Sherlock, dear, we don’t want to be too far away from the front, in case we need to see things on that screen. I’ve got my glasses.” She waved her bag.

They sat down two rows from the front at table 5.

“Oooh, look, we have to come up with a team name!”

“What’s wrong with table 5?” said Sherlock.

“Well, it’s dull, isn’t it?” said John, joining them at the table with Molly.

Molly sat down and took a pencil case out of her handbag.

“What’s this?”

“It’s my school pencil case…I kept it.”

“She’s got about 12 different pens that write in a variety of different glittery pinks and purples!” laughed Sherlock.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking nice pens!” pouted Molly.

“Right, then, I’ll get drinks. Molly?”

“Vodka and coke please.”

“G&T for me, dearie,” added Mrs Hudson.

“Sherlock, are you drinking this evening?”

“God, yes, I imagine I’ll need it. I’ll have my usual.”

John headed off to the bar.

“Now, what about our team name?” asked Molly.

“Obviously it should be 221B,” said Sherlock, trying to get into the spirit of things.

“That’s perfect.” 

Molly took out a purple pen and wrote “221B” in cartoon letters at the top of each round’s answer sheet.

As John returned from the bar, Mike was just getting started. He sounded a bit nervous.

“Well, hello, everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight and supporting the hospital. We spend enough time there during working hours so it means a lot that you all gave up your free time tonight for this. I think we’ve got some great questions. Rounds will have 6 themed questions and we’ll have 6 rounds. We’ll have a short break half way through and we’ll be selling raffle tickets. Through the wonders of modern technology, we’ll have the scores up on that screen behind me, which is where you’ll also see any picture questions. Now, we do have a gimmick. At the end of each round, you need to guess how many questions you have answered correctly. If you are right, you gain an extra point. Also, the use of mobile phones, tablets, carrier pigeons, etc, to get answers are strictly forbidden. Any team caught using them will be disqualified. Finally, the answer on my sheet is final, even if you can incontrovertibly prove that it’s wrong. Yes, I am looking at you, Sherlock Holmes. Right, that’s it. Have fun everyone. The first round is a simple “identify this famous person” one, with a twist...We want the name of the person’s famous spouse or partner. The pictures will come on the screen…you have 1 minute on each face. Write down your answers. Here’s the first one.”

A picture of Angelina Jolie appeared on the screen.

“Oh, it’s Brad Pitt,” said Mrs Hudson.

“I know…” said Molly, writing down the answer.

“They must be starting us off easy,” agreed John.

The next person was Samantha Cameron. Everyone knew it except Sherlock.

“Honestly, Sherlock, do you even know who the Prime Minister is?” argued John.

“It’s hardly relevant to my life.”

The next picture was of a good-looking guy in his mid-30s. 

“I’ve no idea who he is,” admitted John. Sherlock and Mrs Hudson shook their heads.

“It’s ok, I’ve got it covered. It’s Joshua Jackson and his partner is Diane Kruger.”

“Who’s she?”

“She played Helen of Troy in that terrible movie,” remembered John.

“We’ll take your word for it, Molly,” said Sherlock.

The picture was of Chris Martin. Both John and Molly knew his more famous wife was Gweneth Paltrow. Sherlock had never heard of Coldplay and Mrs Hudson told him that ignorance was bliss.

The penultimate photo was in black and white of a man in evening dress. His hair receded but he made up for it with a fine moustache and goatee.

“No idea,” said Molly.

“Not a clue,” added John.

“And you call yourself scientists?” scoffed Sherlock as he wrote down “Marie Curie” on the answer sheet.

“That was a level up on the other ones,” said Molly, changing the subject.

“Well, naturally, they want most people to get most of the answers right so they enjoy themselves and feel clever, but they’ve made 20% of the questions a bit harder to sort the wheat from the chaff,” explained Sherlock, surprisingly.

The others looked askance at his sudden game theory knowledge.

“What? I’m not allowed know random trivia now?”

“Well, of course you are dear, it’s just unexpected,” said Mrs Hudson.

The final picture was again black and white, a woman wearing a crown. The team was stumped.

“Obviously some queen of somewhere turn of the 19th into 20th century but I’ve no idea,” John pronounced.

“It’s not the Queen Mum, but it might be Queen Alexandra” declared Mrs Hudson.

“I think we’ll have to guess this one and say that we’ve got 5 out of 6 right,” replied Molly.

“Who was she married to?” asked John.

“Edward VII,” answered Molly. “Shall we put that down as our guess?”

“May as well,” shrugged John.

From the top of the room, Mike spoke again.

“Ok that’s the end of round 1. We’ll go around and collect the answer sheets then we’ll move on to round 2. I’ll read out the answers in a bit.”

Sherlock took out a notepad and jotted down some words.

“What are you writing?” Molly put her hand on his arm and tried to see.

“I’m just making some notes. There are two tables of people here who are completely unknown to me. They’re taking it very seriously – no jokes, no booze on the table. I suspect they’re “ringers.”

“What are ringers?” Mrs Hudson asked for everyone.

“Teams who go around to different table quizzes trying to win the money/prizes. It’s not really in the spirit of things but there’s no real harm.”

“Except that we’d want to see someone we know win, if not ourselves,” argued John.

“Can’t you put the deductions away for the night?” pleaded Molly.

“Of course not.”

Mike announced it was time for round 2.

“This round is a bit more fiendish. It’s general knowledge. Question number 1: What distinction had Claudia Kennedy in the US army?”

3 heads turned towards John.

“I was in the British army!”

“But don’t you have an idea?” asked Molly.

“She must be the first woman something but it’s anyone’s guess as to which rank. General?”

“But there’s more than one type of general,” argued Sherlock.

“True. Put down 1 star general,” ordered John.

“Question number 2: On what island was Napoleon born?”

“Oh I know this: it’s Corsica,” said Molly.

“Crafty!” said Sherlock cryptically. “I would surmise that all the questions are about generals.”

“Ha!” groaned John.

Sherlock’s theory proved correct when the next question was about Scipio Africanus - a Roman general. Mrs Hudson surprisingly knew he was famous for defeating Hannibal in the second Punic War.

“What? I love a good history program!” she declared defensively.

“Question 4: Describe one facet of Einstein’s general theory of relativity.”

“Gosh, that’s a bit above and beyond for a pub quiz, isn’t it?” 

“It’s ok, I know it. I really liked physics at school,” said Molly.

“Question 5: General Hospital is a long-running US soap. In what town is it set?”

“Ah come on!” shouted John. “It’s not even broadcast in England!”

Molly quietly wrote down “Port Charles”. 

“Are you sure, Molly?” asked Sherlock.

“Quite. I did a summer working in New Jersey – I worked nights so I watched a lot of crappy American tv.”

“What did you work as?” said Mrs Hudson.

“Bartender.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow…he hadn’t known this.

The final question was “The John Boorman directed biopic “The General” was about which Irish crime boss?”

“Gosh, that’s hard,” exclaimed Molly.

“It’s Martin Cahill,” replied Sherlock.

“How do you know?”

“Do you really have to ask? Naturally I keep up with all major criminals in Europe. Cahill was quite notorious.”

“Ok. How many do we have right this round?” said John.

“Er, I think 5 again, assuming Sherlock is right about that last one.”

“I am right!”

“Fine, no need to be so touchy. 5 right. That woman in the US Army is really hard.”

“Whoever she is, well done to her rising to a high rank anyway,” added Mrs Hudson.

Mike read out the answers to round 1 and 221B had indeed scored 5.

“Now, the next round is quite a bit harder. We’ve jumbled up the names of Agatha Christie novels and we want the original title…so to give you an example: I might say “International Crime Syndicate” and you would give me the title “The Big Four.” We’ll give you a bit of time on this one, so we’ll hand around the names on a sheet. Make sure to write your team name on the top.”

“I’m going to be rubbish at this, I can’t stand Agatha Christie!” announced Molly, which yielded an anguished gasp from Sherlock.

“Oooh, Molly. I think Sherlock might dump you for that comment,” teased John.

“No, but I will make you read several books to prove just how wrong you are,” replied the detective.

“Will you read them aloud to me?” said Molly, with a smile.

“I will.”

“Oh get a room!”

The list of titles arrived. Molly passed it directly to Sherlock.

Poisoned chalice  
Dan’s brother is killed  
No one is getting off this island  
A hot Borg calls an unknown number  
7 years bad luck  
Felucca down the Styx

“7 years bad luck. That must be something to do with mirrors,” mused Mrs Hudson. 

“There’s two Christie novels with mirror in the title but it’s much more likely to be The mirror crack’d from side to side than They do it with mirrors,” said Sherlock.

“What do they do with the mirrors?” queried John.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, John!” exclaimed Molly.

John glanced at the sheet to see Sherlock’s distinctive scrawl. 

“Death on the Nile for the last one, Sparkling Cyanide for the first, And then there were none for the third – wait why have you also written two other titles in brackets there?”

“It was originally called a much less politically incorrect title, which was then changed to the middle, still un-pc term and finally to And then there were none, so I’m just covering all the bases,” explained Sherlock.

“So that just leaves 2 and 4,” reasoned Molly.

“I’ve no idea. Dan’s brother could be anyone. Lots of people are named in her book titles. Why didn’t they ask Evans? The labours of Hercules.”

“I don’t think Hercules had a brother called Dan!” laughed John.

“And as for this hot borg thing….”

“Wait, the Borg, as in Star Trek?” asked Molly.

“Maybe. There was a hot female borg in Voyager. Seven of Nine.”

“You would know that!”

Sherlock looked into the middle distance as trying to remember something.

“Hmm, I could be wrong but it may be The Seven Dials Mystery.”

“Hang on, Sherlock admitted he might be wrong about something! Write that down in his notebook, Molly.”

“So we’re up to five probably right answers again,” counted Mrs Hudson.

“Dammit, we must get to the elusive 6 or we shan’t win!” cried Sherlock.

“It’s only a game, Sherlock,” Molly tried to placate.

“Only a game! So what?! We have to win anyway. I’ll list out all the titles of her books and you try to find someone famous called Dan who fits.”

“Do we have enough time for that?”

“Shush!”

Sherlock began reeling off titles. It was quite astonishing. Molly was amused he didn’t have them in alphabetical order. The murder of Roger Ackroyd came up about half way through the list and she twigged it.

“Dan Ackroyd!”

“Quiet, Molly, we don’t want the other tables to hear!”

“So we’re agreed to guess 6 this time?” said Sherlock, as the others nodded. 

Mike announced a short break. Mrs Hudson hurried off to the loo, while John again went to the bar.

“You’re much better than I thought you’d be,” admitted Molly.

“So are you,” admitted Sherlock.

They smiled at each other. Sherlock leaned over to give Molly a quick kiss.

“I always thought you’d be someone who hated public affection.”

“When have I cared what other people thought?”

“Fair point,” agreed Molly.

A lady from the fund raising committee came around selling raffle tickets. Molly insisted they both buy a fiver’s worth.

“There won’t be anything worth winning!” complained Sherlock.

“That is not the point, as well you should know,” she admonished.

Mike came back on the microphone. He read out the answers to the second and third rounds.

“Right, I’ll show you the scores. In third place, the cardiologists! In second place, on 19 points, 221B!”

“Woohoo!” said John.

“Please, it’s hardly a surprise…we have been keeping track.”

“And ahead by 2 points, the Campanologists!”

There was a distinct murmur of dissent as everyone realised the interlopers were winning.

“We must try harder!” said Mrs Hudson.

Mike announced that the next round would be sport.

“Oh bugger!” said Molly. “We don’t have anyone good on sport.”

John looked mildly offended but didn’t disagree.

“Question 1: who was the second last manager of the England soccer team?”

“God, who cares?” said Sherlock.

“I’ve no idea,” said Molly glumly.

“I think it’s Steve McClaren, so guess that,” said John.

“Question 2: when did curling become an official Olympic sport?”

“This is ridiculous!” announced Mrs Hudson.

“Name any of the four major tournaments in golf,” said Mike, from the top of the room.

“Oh wait, I know one: the British open,” John looked relieved.

The rest of the round was a total bust, with the 221B team only sure they had one question right.

“This is terrible: we’ll never win now!” said Molly.

Round 5 was about quizzes.

“Question 1: What is the name of Alexander Armstrong’s co-presenter on Pointless?”

“Oh, it’s Richard something!” said John excitedly.

“Richard Osman,” finished Sherlock.

“Question 2: Who is the weakest link on Eggheads?”

“Obviously it’s Judith!” said Mrs Hudson. “I don’t know how she won the million on Who wants to be a millionaire.”

“I think it’s CJ,” said Sherlock, seriously. “He’s really rubbish on certain subjects.”

“I think CJ too,” agreed John. “Sherlock watches a lot of day time tv!”

“Question 3: Name two presenters, past or present, of Family Fortunes.”

“Vernon Kaye is the current guy,” answered Molly.

The rest of them looked around at each other.

“Bob Monkhouse,” said Mrs Hudson.

“No, he presented Blockbusters!” said John.

“That was Bob Holness! None of you is old enough to remember.”

“Alright, we bow to your superior…age.”

Sherlock got a mild thump for that remark.

“How many times has someone won the million on the UK version of Who wants to be a Millionaire?” said Mike.

“Oooh, I dunno, definitely once,” said Molly.

“Can anyone think of any more?”

“There was the guy who cheated,” remembered John.

“Put down once…I feel we might be wrong but we’ve nothing better.”

“What is Britain’s longest running quiz show?”

“Countdown,” Sherlock announced definitely.

“What about University Challenge?” asked John.

“Well, that’s not continuous so I wouldn’t count it.”

“Fair enough,” Molly tried to placate both.

“Final question now: Which university has won University Challenge the most times? We want a specific college here so saying Cambridge or Oxford won’t cut it.”

“Magdalen College,” said Sherlock.

“How do you know?”

“No reason, it’s just one of those things. We won it 4 times.”

“We won it?! Oh, of course, you attended Magdalen, didn’t you?” said Molly.

“Yes,” said Sherlock briefly.

Mrs Hudson tried to smother a laugh. Sherlock scowled at her.

“What are you laughing at?” wondered John.

“Oh, it’s just…aren’t you going to tell them? Sherlock was on University Challenge!”

Molly and John stared in astonishment.

“You were not!”

“He was! He had a row with Jeremy Paxman!” said Mrs Hudson.

“How do you know this?”

“Mycroft told me. He’s got a tape too.”

“Oh, this is brilliant. I’m sending him a text right now.”

“It won’t do you any good, you don’t have a video player,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Is this true, Sherlock? Please say it is,” begged Molly.

“It is true and the discussion is over.” Sherlock shot a rare look of embarrassment at everyone. He got up from the table muttering something about the bathroom.

“Perhaps it was naughty of me to tell you,” said Mrs Hudson, her voice filled with remorse.

“No, it’s fair game. He’s always figuring out stuff about us,” responded John.

Molly was looking across the room where Sherlock was chatting animatedly with Mike. Mike’s face held a look of incredulity. Sherlock waved his arms and finally Stamford nodded. Sherlock came back over to their table.

“Right, that’s that sorted.”

“What’s sorted?”

“I’ve taken care of the competition.”

“What did you do, Sherlock?” said John.

“I did nothing but be my usual observant self. The Campanologists are using a phone. Mike’s going to announce it shortly.”

As they went into the last round, 221B was winning, thanks to Sherlock’s attention to detail.

“You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff about your secret television career,” teased Molly.

Sherlock had no time to answer as Mike returned to the microphone for the final set of questions.

“Alright, everyone, the final round is films. Question 1: What links a nun with a nanny?”

“Julie Andrews!” John looked excited.

“You like musicals?” Sherlock was surprised.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing!”

“Question 2: In Back to the Future, what was the name of the dance Marty attends with his mother?”

“I know! It’s the Enchantment under the Sea,” Molly cried.

“Question 3: All by myself, which featured in Bridget Jones’ Diary, is based on which popular classical piece of music?”

“Gosh, that’s hard!” said Mrs Hudson.

“No, it’s not. It’s Rachmaninov’s piano concerto number 2 in C minor.”

“I suppose Sherlock would know that!”

“There’s no accounting for what he does and doesn’t know, Molly,” retorted John.

“Question 4: In the career of Alfred Hitchcock, what movie followed Rear Window?”

Everyone looked at Mrs Hudson, who was known to be a fan.

“I think it’s To Catch a Thief.”

“Question 5: How many Oscars did Chicago win?”

“Lots,” said Molly unhelpfully.

“5 or 6?” said John.

“Guess 6.”

“Final question everyone: what was Heath Ledger’s final film?”

“Batman – which one was it?” said Molly.

“The Dark Knight.” Once again, Sherlock surprised everyone.

“But wasn’t there another film he was still working on?”

“Ah, they mean completed film, surely?” reasoned John.

“Ok, everyone: time’s up. Hand up your answers and we’ll have the results soon.”

John smiled at everyone. “You know, I think we might just have piped it.”

“We make an excellent team – no weakest link here.”

“I don’t know about that, I’ve been keeping score of who got the most answers right,” started Sherlock, but Molly interrupted him.

“No one wants to hear your statistics. Give me that piece of paper!”

She grabbed it out of his hand and ripped it up. Sherlock was indignant.

“I still know the figures, Molly, tearing up my notes won’t help!”

“Yeah, but shut up, mate,” said John.

Mike called the room to attention.

“Right, the results have been calculated. First, I want to point out that the Campanologists have been disqualified for cheating.” Some cheers in the audience sounded.

“So in third place, the ambulance drivers on 31, in second place, the cardiologists on 32 and the winners by 2 points: 221B! Well done guys!”

Some smart-arse shouted “fix fix” as people realised that Molly, who worked for Mike, was on the team…but they had won fair and square. Their prize was, predictably, bottles of wine. Sherlock made an “I told you so” face but kept his mouth shut.

The four made their way back to Baker St. John and Mrs Hudson both immediately retired for the evening, leaving Molly & Sherlock alone in the sitting room.

She sat down on the couch and patted the seat beside her. 

“Come sit with me. That was really good fun. Admit you enjoyed yourself doing a normal human thing.”

“I suppose it was not terrible.”

“Good boy. Would you like your prize?”

“Is it more wine?” Sherlock asked warily.

“No.”

Molly pulled him down on the couch and clambered up on his knee. Sherlock responded by pulling her hair loose and cuddling into her.

“This is nice,” she said, nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck.

“Very.”

“I wish we could stay here forever.”

“I don’t….then we’d never go to bed.”


	13. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the SAMFA nomination. I'm really chuffed to be in the running for best humour (as well as best mystery for "Her Alibi". The latter story is finished but Oneupmanship isn't, so as a special thank you to those who voted: here's a new chapter. There's a second party of this particular interlude to come as well.

Neither Molly nor Sherlock had forgotten a brief conversation about possibly moving in together but the subject had not been broached since the train back from Chester. Sherlock thought the best option was for Molly to move in with them in Baker St.

“John?”

“Hmm?” John was distracted by a morning newspaper.

“How would you feel about Molly moving in with us?”

John threw his newspaper down on the table as he raised an incredulous eyebrow at this flatmate.

“Could you just say that again?”

“I want Molly to move in with us.”

“I don’t know, Sherlock…”

“But you like Molly!” he said indignantly.

“Of course I do, but I don’t necessarily want to live with a couple.”

“What if I promised we would never have relations in front of you?”

“Well, I had hoped such a promise was a given in general but…Sherlock, have you asked Molly if she wants to live with her boyfriend and his….”

John finished his sentence with “live-in significant other” as Sherlock tried “assistant”.

The two men smiled at each other.

“Sherlock, I don’t think it’s a good idea. A couple living with one other person is always a recipe for disaster. And I don’t really want to move either. Things are going great with Mary but it’s way too soon for us to be considering moving in together.”

“Molly and I have only been together a short time.”

“True, but you had all those years of fawning around pretending you were above feelings…”

“I did, didn’t I?”

Sherlock jumped up suddenly.

“I have an idea.”

“Spit it out.”

But he had already left the room and could be heard pounding down the stairs.

“Mrs Hudson?”

John shook his head and went back to his newspaper. No doubt he’d find out soon enough.

After a short successful conversation with Mrs Hudson, Sherlock steeled himself for an unpleasant one. He dialled his brother’s number.

“Mycroft. I need to access some of the trust fund.”

“Well, hello to you too, brother. How’s the little woman?”

“Don’t you dare call her that! And stop being so friendly.”

“You called me,” said Mycroft dryly.

“How do I access the trust fund?”

“Really, how do you not know this? You are 34 years old and have never had a proper job. You must have accessed it before.”

“Certainly I have, but I deleted it.”

Mycroft let out a very put-upon sigh.

“You make an appointment with your private banker in Coutts, Miss Blackstone.”

“Do I? Can’t you do it for me?”

“You are the definition of a man-child. I will email you her contact details.”

“Ok.” 

“What do you want it for?”

“Building renovations.”

Sherlock duly met with Miss Blackstone, who seemed not to have a first name, and arranged for a funds transfer. She tried to interest him in internet banking but Sherlock waved her away. Why would he do that when he could have someone else do it for him?!

At 5pm, Sherlock Holmes found himself passing for ordinary, as he purchased flowers and Molly’s favourite macaroons. When she came home for work, he was waiting for her in her apartment. The flowers – daisies – were arranged in a vase on her coffee table.

Molly greeted him with a hug.

“This is a nice surprise. And flowers too. Wait, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, what are you going to do that requires flattery?”

Sherlock affected a hurt look.

“I was hoping you’d agree to it straight off.”

“Well, would you like to ask before you deduce my answer?”

“Seems somewhat redundant but alright.”

He directed Molly to sit down on the couch beside him and took her hand.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“If you would just shut up, you’d know already!”

“This is not the way to agreement – remember we had that talk about give and take?”

He took a deep breath.

“It’s all very simple, and everyone has agreed, except you. I’ve arranged the building works myself.”

“Still waiting for the question, love…” said Molly with a frustrated smile.

“You remember we had the conversation about moving in together?”

“I do.”

“Well, I thought you could move in with me.”

Molly pursed her lips, holding back a smile.

“What about John?”

“Yes, he wasn’t terribly pleased about living with a couple.”

“You want me to live with you AND John?!”

“Naturally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s not, but I admit John’s reaction was similar. That’s what the building renovations are for.”

“Sherlock, I’ve been at work for 10 hours, I’ve had no dinner and I don’t have time to translate your shorthand. Please spell it out for me.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I talked to Mrs Hudson and agreed to pay for the renovations to make 221C habitable – it has rising damp. Work starts tomorrow and should be ready within a month. John will move down to 221C and you will move upstairs with me.”

“What does John say about this idea?”

“He doesn’t know yet,” admitted Sherlock. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine. So that’s everything settled. You’ll give notice to your landlord tomorrow.”

“Sherlock, you haven’t actually asked me. You’ve just told me.”

“But isn’t that what we both want? To live together?”

“Yes, but it would be nice to be consulted. And you’re so good at consulting,” she teased.

“You don’t want me to get my knees or anything?” he asked suspiciously.

“No. A straightforward “Molly, will you please come and live with me?” will do fine.”

“I think I can do better than that.” He cleared his throat.

“Molly, I find it tedious to travel across the city when I want to sleep. Most people are lucky to find one person in life who would willingly live with them and I have been very lucky to find two. I forced you into short-term living with me once before and it changed me forever. Please come and live with me permanently.”

He looked at her expectantly.

“I’ll think about it,” she said coolly. Molly stood up and moved towards the kitchen.

“Oh harsh, Dr Hooper,” he said jokingly, but not quite covering up his disappointment.

She looked over her shoulder. It was naughty of her.

“Sherlock, you idiot. Of course I will move in with you and John and Mrs Hudson. Ooof!” she added, nearly falling over, as a Sherlock latched on to her.

“Would it kill you to say that you loved me though?”

“Admitting I had friends caused me to fake my own death, what do you think?” he smirked.

“I suppose that’ll have to do.”

“I do have one additional piece of information though.”

“What’s that?”

“The builders are going to enlarge our bathroom so we can have a bigger bath.”

“Oh, Sherlock. You should have lead with that information…”


	14. Moving in Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks & love as always to my beta, Thinkswithpen.  
> There’’ll be a hiatus on this story now while I go back to work on my Cabin Pressure crossover fic: The Pilot’s Pathologist.

Sherlock and John were standing in 221C, surveying the progress. John had had a brief reluctance to move out, until he realised that not living with Sherlock Holmes full time might have its perks. He’d insisted on soundproofing the ceiling. Hello: sleep-filled nights without the intrusion of a violin.

“I tell you, John, she’s gone mad!”

“What’s Molly done now?” John’s tone suggested that whatever it was, it was probably reasonable.

“She is insisting on removing the living room wallpaper and painting it all a mint green colour. Mint!”

“What’s wrong with what was there?”

“That’s what I said, and I’ve rarely been so sorry to have asked a question. Apparently, having 3 different garish wallpapers in one room was “enough to make anyone crazy” and she wasn’t willing to put up with it.”

“Ok. So some compromise required,” said John reasonably.

“I haven’t finished yet! Then she demanded that all experiments be moved up to your room, with a separate fridge freezer for body parts. The kitchen is apparently to be a “food only zone” from now on.”

“That’s a brilliant idea! Why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Probably because you didn’t want to share a bedroom with me…”

“Oh right…still, it works…you won’t ever have to tidy up that room. There’s the silver lining.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t count on that. She is a neat freak. I’ve seen her clean away barely finished mugs because she can’t bear to see them once they’re no longer in use. Also, she’s insisting that we have a lock installed on the door….says Mrs Hudson is far too prone to just barging in!”

“I think you’re due for a timely reminder that you initiated all this change, Sherlock. You asked her to move in. I think you’re damn lucky to find anyone willing to put up with you, and she’s the second one!”

“I know. I said something similar when I convinced her to move in. I suppose it will be worth it eventually.”

“Why is she at work today instead of moving?”

 

“She packed up everything already and a moving company is doing the heavy lifting. We’ve put in a couple more bookcases and her stuff can go in them. She is taking a half- day though.”

“Right, well, have fun. Try not to kill each other straight away. I’m really looking forward to living alone for a while.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll be begging Mary to move in with you within a month.”

“No comment.”

***

Molly finished up at lunch time and headed for Baker St, or “home” as she was supposed to call it now. How weird to be living with someone else after all this time. Sherlock’s stay after his Fall was more an extended house guest arrangement than living together so it was the first time since uni that she’d lived with anyone. 

The front door was open and Mrs Hudson was seeing out the last of the moving company. 

“Hello, duckie, Sherlock’s upstairs.”

Molly smiled her thanks and headed up to the first floor, fumbling in her bag for her keys. Sherlock had conceded that sometimes Mrs Hudson was a bit too familiar. She opened the door and gazed around the main room, now adorned with a fresh coat of lovely minty green. New bookcases stood by the windows and her books had been arranged on them. Alphabetically. No prizes for guessing who did that. 

An insistent meowing drew her attention and she realised that Toby was still in his carry case. Molly quickly released him and he shot off to explore his new surroundings. As she straightened back up, arms appeared around her waist and hands travelled up to cup her breasts. Sherlock kissed her on the neck and breathed into her ear “Should have let me carry you over the threshold.”

“That’s only for married people – and we’re not. Hello,” she added as he continued nuzzling her neck.

“You see, this is why I wanted the lock.”

“Would you like the tour of your new home?”

“Does the tour start in the bedroom?”

“Well, no, but it could…although, I have it all planned out. I’ve even cooked!”

Molly twisted around to look at him, grabbing his jaw in her hand.

“Are you serious? You cooked something? This is better than I imagined!”

“Now don’t get too excited. When I say “I cooked”, I mean, I bought lots of cheese and set it out on the scrupulously clean kitchen table, with crusty bread, and some of that wine you like.”

Molly was still impressed. Throwing her arms around his neck, she dragged his lips down to meet hers.

“Later,” he said, disengaging, “tour now.”

His girlfriend made a small disappointed sigh and slipped off her shoes, dropping her height by a good 10 centimetres.

Sherlock affected an American accent.

“So here we are in the main room of the property, which is lit by two nice windows. The paintwork is freshly done: the new owners didn’t like the previous décor. Extra bookcases have been added to specification. Follow me through to the kitchen.”

He led Molly by the hand through the glass doors into the kitchen. It had never been so clean.

“Passing through the other door, you see the bathroom and the master bedroom to your right. Up the stairs is the laboratory.”

Molly followed Sherlock up the stairs. John’s room had been converted into a workroom for Sherlock. It now contained a microscope, centrifuge, fridge freezer and a good workbench.

“This looks great, Sherlock. It was such a good idea to move all of this stuff from the kitchen. Whose idea was that, I wonder?!” she teased.

The detective made no comment but secretly agreed that this was a much better space than the kitchen.

Back down the stairs, Molly wanted to see the finished bathroom, which she had yet to approve.

“Oh, look at this bath. It’s huge. I’m going to use it all the time.”

Sherlock cleared his throat pointedly.

“Right, of course, we’re going to use it all the time. I love it!”

“Finally, we have the master bedroom, which has been preserved almost intact, apart from the addition of an extra wardrobe.”

Molly flopped on to the bed, beckoning Sherlock to join her. He lay down on his side, resting his head on one hand and looked down at her.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?”

“This room needs work…but it can be a work in progress,” replied Molly, primly.

“It’s perfect as is!” spluttered Sherlock.

Molly pressed one index finger across his lips.

“Well, we’ll see about that. Now, you mentioned something about cheese?”

“I’m not hungry anymore. There seems to be a pathologist in my bed.”

She threw a mock-outraged look at him.

“Sherlock – we’re not going to bed, it’s 2 o’clock.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve been wondering about afternoon delight for years. Now it’s time to find out. We can eat later.”

“But also, we can have sex later….I live here now…won’t be going home tonight, or ever again.”

“One of my better ideas….I definitely won this round.”

“Ah, you’re not still trying to compete with me, are you? Don’t you understand I’ve won, repeatedly and thoroughly? I’ve actually collected money on this.”

“You bet on us?”

“Naturally – everyone else was running a book, I thought it was only fair to get in and rig the pool. How do you think we paid for the lab equipment?”

“I presumed Mycroft….” said Sherlock, trailing off.

“Oh my god, I’m a kept man now, aren’t I?”

“Oh shut up, you love it.”

“Maybe a little bit….”


	15. The Games continue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this story is already dedicated to the Queen of our fandom, Nocturnias, and she requested I write something involving Sherlock taking Molly on a picnic. Happy Birthday, babe. This chapter is also unbetaed because I took too long writing it and wanted to post it up by Thursday.

Sherlock and Molly had been living together for a couple of months.  John was still in 221C but increasingly spent time with Mary, his girlfriend. 

Between hectic schedules and work, the couple had barely spent any waking time together in a couple of weeks.  If Sherlock had a regret about living with Molly, it was that it was much harder to plan surprises for her. 

Molly awoke early on her first Saturday off in 2 weeks and rolled over to find a sleeping Sherlock in bed beside her.  He could still take her breath away.  Sometimes she actually squealed aloud (when no one was around) that she got to have him in her life and he wanted her there.  He was sleeping on his back.  The summer weather meant he’d kicked the sheet away, so she had an uninterrupted view of his chest.  Musn’t touch, she thought.  He was a really light sleeper and he didn’t rest nearly enough.  Molly got out of bed quietly and popped to the bathroom.  When she returned, Sherlock had rolled over and she now had a perfect view of his arse.  She stood admiring for a moment.

“I thought we had agreed that staring at each other while asleep was creepy,” said Sherlock, sleepily turning to face her.

“Clearly, you are not asleep so it is not creepy,” she countered.

“Come back to bed.”

She didn’t need any further enticement.  Molly hopped back onto the bed and snuggled into his side.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Really, were you away?” asked Sherlock cheekily, while stroking her hair.

He got a thump.

“We have a whole weekend – I don’t want to see anyone else.  I’m not sure I want to leave the bed,” said Molly.

“Hmm, doubtful, you like to eat and go to the loo.  But anyway, you can’t have your wish because I have plans for us that involve not only leaving the flat, but London too.”

“Where are we going?”

“That would be a surprise.  You will like it.  Go shower and get dressed.”

Molly pouted.  “Don’t we get lazy Saturday morning sex first?”

“No time for it.”

“I can be quick…”

“Stop tempting me…go…”

“What sort of clothes should I wear?”

"Something suitable for outdoors.”

Molly smiled.  “Does this mean you’re not wearing a suit?”

“Yes.”

She jumped up and down a bit.  “I love it when you dress like a normal person!” said Molly, pulling clothes out of a drawer.

“I know,” he said smugly.

Once Molly was safely ensconced in the shower, Sherlock retrieved his phone and sent Mycroft a text, which cryptically said “activate phase I”.

When they were both finished their ablutions, Molly made some coffee and toast. Sherlock sat scanning headlines on the laptop.

“What time are we leaving and how are we going?”

“A car will be collecting us in 15 minutes.”

“You’re really not telling me anything, are you?  And you love it!”

“Correct.  I’ll have marmalade on my toast.”

“Get it yourself.  What did your last slave die of?”

“I converted her into my live-in girlfriend.”

“Oh did you now?  I’ve spent all this time breaking you in and you still think I’m going to make toast for you?”

“You’ve already made it!  I’m just asking for marmalade on it.”

“Fine.  You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am.”

***

The car pulled up outside and Sherlock ushered Molly down the stairs, toast in hand.

They got into the back.

“Hey, the windows are blacked out!”

“Very observant.”

“How long will the journey take?”

“90 minutes.”

“Oh Sherlock – why didn’t you say before?  I could have brought a book.”

“Because I have better ideas.”

“Not all your ideas are better.”

“So you don’t want to live out your secret fantasy of shagging in the back of a car while someone else drives then?”

Molly gulped.  She’d never actually elucidated this particular fantasy to Sherlock.

“How do you know that?”

“Please…”

“No, I want to know.”

“The times Mycroft has collected us in cars like this – you spent a lot of time stroking the seat, looking around, memorising…and you seemed unexpectedly aroused.  Once I got over the fleeting revolting thought that you might be attracted to my brother, I realised the real issue.”

“Sherlock…it may be a fantasy but that doesn’t mean I want it to be a reality.  I couldn’t….there’s a guy driving us up there.”

“And he can’t hear or see us,” Sherlock’s hand snaked up her inner thigh, briefly stroking her through her jeans and then withdrew to the other side of the car.  Molly jumped at his touch, her eyes widening to silently admonish him. 

She scooted over in the seat, cuddling into his side and reaching up, kissed him on the cheek.

“You’re very sweet but I really couldn’t…” her words were cut off by Sherlock’s hand touching her again and she closed her eyes succumbing to the sensation.  Part of her wished she wasn’t so easily aroused by him: at times it was inconvenient.  Today however, there really wasn’t anything else to do.  He had listened though when Molly said she was too inhibited to actually have sex in the car.  He downgraded the activity to just getting her off with his hand.  For an extra personal challenge, he decided he wouldn’t remove any of her clothes.

She spread her legs to allow his hand better access and gripped his knee with her right hand.  He pressed the heel of his own right hand rhythmically against her clitoris knowing that the seam of her jeans would assist in stimulating her.

“Do you like this, Molly?” he whispered, adding aural to the physical experience.  She always responded so well to his voice.  He was rewarded with incoherent mumbling while she grinded against his hand.  Her muscles began to spasm, her pelvis bucking but he held firm and she came hard and fast with a loud sigh.  Molly’s head sank back against the headrest as her breathing returned to normal.

After a moment’s silence, she spoke.

“That was lovely, and unexpected, and a bit naughty of you.  Thank you.”

He nodded, making some notes on his phone.

“What shall we do for the rest of the journey?”

As it turned out, Sherlock had competitive word games on their linked phones planned for the rest of the journey.  Quite a come down from an orgasm but Molly thought it best not to complain.

“What are you typing on your phone?”

“Nothing!  It’s part of your surprise,” he said quickly.  It was probably for the best if Molly didn’t know he had a spreadsheet of recorded orgasm times for her on his phone.

The rest of the journey passed peacefully.  Molly had no idea where she was going.  When the car stopped, she asked again where they were.

“The countryside, somewhere quiet,” was the unhelpful answer.  They alighted from the vehicle, which promptly drove off.

Molly examined her surroundings.  They were on the edge of a small wood.  A dirt track wound through the trees.  Sunlight dappled the ground and shone on wild flowers.

“It’s beautiful here.  Where are we?” she demanded.

“I told you: the countryside.  All you need know is that we have it to ourselves.”

Sherlock took Molly’s hand and led her down the path through the trees.  They strolled for about 10 minutes and then found themselves in a natural grove.  A large checked blanket was laid on the ground.  A big basket sat at one end of it, beside a pile of cushions.

Molly’s eyes lit up.  “Did you plan this?”

Sherlock did his best to contain his sarcasm as he replied “of course.”

“A picnic?!  Oh, I love picnics!” 

She raced over to the blanket, knelt down and opened the picnic basket with a squeal of delight.

“Sherlock!  There’s all sorts of goodies.  Cheese!  Cake!  Bread!  Oh, wine?”

“Well, we’re not driving…”  he knelt down beside her and sat back on his legs, tucking a cushion behind himself.

Molly busied herself taking out plates and forks and was soon very happily enthusing about cheese and whether it was wrong to eat cake first.  Sherlock leaned back and watched her, only half listening.  He loved surprising her.

After tucking into a lovely lunch, they both lay back to soak up some vitamin D, a rare occurrence with their jobs.  Sherlock was dozing when he felt Molly stir and she suddenly atop him.  Half a bottle of wine had made her libidinous – exactly as planned.

“Hello.”

“You mentioned we were all alone.  Are we really?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“Yes.  No audience and no cameras.  Why?”  He knew exactly what she had in mind, and had indeed, planned it, but he wanted her to say it.

She fidgeted with the corner of a cushion and looked away for a second before refocusing on his face.

“Well, I just thought…since we are alone…and it’s quite warm…that I could maybe repay the favour you did me in the car..?”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?  “Favours”?” he grinned.

“If you’re too inhibited, we don’t have to!”

Sherlock sat up and pulled her t-shirt up over her head before she had time to blink.

“No, it’s an excellent plan,” he whispered, sucking on her earlobe.   Molly’s hands went for his waistband and his own shirt followed suit.  He sat her on the ground and was soon kissing her.  The taste of Victoria sponge and chilled white wine was on both their tongues.  Sherlock kissed his way down to her boobs, her nipples had hardened when the air hit them – a natural response – but now exposed to his mouth, grew even more erect as she gasped with delight.  Her hands stroked his upper arms – all she could reach in this position but soon it wasn’t enough.

“Sherlock, love…get up, take off the rest of your clothes.”

He looked up at her, a bit red in the face.  “Only if you do too.”

She grinned her acquiescence and made short work of the rest of her attire.  Molly lay back on the blanket, entirely naked.

“Oooh…I’ve never been naked outdoors before…it feels quite liberating.”

“Imagine how you’ll feel once you’ve had sex al fresco too.”

“I was rather hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

Freed of his clothes, Molly admired his body.  It just wasn’t fair that someone could look that good with no attention to health or exercise.

“Get down here beside me,” she commanded.

He lay down on his side, and kissed her softly.  One finger traced a path down her chin, between her breasts and down on to her centre.  She squirmed happily at his touch.

“No, it’s your turn,” she stopped him as he began to lower his head.  She pushed him so he was forced on to his back and grabbed him by the balls, none too gently – but she knew what he liked by now.  He groaned in response as she leaned over and took him in her mouth.

Sherlock was distracted now but he did manage to suggest; “You know, love, we could both have a turn at the same time…there’s this other way.”  He grinned facetiously at her.

“This is all quite Lady Chatterley’s Lover, isn’t it?”

“Do you want me to put on a northern accent then?  I could do,” he said the last in it, just to prove the point.  Molly was quite impressed that he even knew the book.

“We won’t be doing much talking, but the thought is appreciated.”

Molly straddled him, placing her hands on his chest.

“Are you sure you want to do it like this?  The last time you got a cramp!” said Sherlock.

“Gosh, I love the way talk so sexily to me when we make love, Sherlock.  Shut up and shag me!”

He didn’t need to be told twice.  Molly guided him inside and he held on to her arse as she began to move.  She felt so very good – they really needed to do this more often.  It struck him as slightly unfair that she was doing all the work on top…but then he remembered all the planning that had gone into today, and relaxed.  Molly leaned down to kiss him and he took the opportunity to roll them over.

“Sherlock!”

“You were too far away – I couldn’t touch you properly,” he pouted, running his hands over her arms and settling at her waist.  She could never resist his puppy dog eyes.  Today was no different.  Molly threw her arms around his neck, planted her feet wide and held him tight as he sped up their rhythm.  Experimentation had taught Sherlock that she’d only need 2-3 more minutes, so he allowed himself to begin to let go.  Molly clenched her muscles around him as her climax began to build, making him see stars and cry out a litany of “I love you” and her name.  She smiled so prettily.  Surely there was no high better than this?  Finally, he came with a shudder as Molly cried out in the throes of her own high.  She kissed him immediately, a long, deep passionate kiss that sent little aftershocks of pleasure through his body.  They lay together on the blanket for a long time, touching gently and talking occasionally. 

The sun went behind some clouds and they started to get a little cold, so clothes were reacquired.

“Sherlock, why don’t you go take a walk on your own for a bit?”

“Is this your way of telling me you need to pee?”

“Maybe.”  Damn him being able to read her so well!

“No need for that, we’ll go on up to the house.”

Molly looked at him in horror.

“But you said we were in the countryside!  There’s a house?!! People could have seen us.”

“Relax.  The staff have the day off.  My parents are away.  There’s no one here.”

“This is your parents’ estate?”  She stumbled on the word “estate” since most people of her acquaintance didn’t have land.

“Of course.  Come on then – we’ll go up to the house.  It’s a long time since I had to break in.  Leave the picnic stuff – the staff will get it later.”

“Sherlock!  We can’t leave a blanket that we just had sex on for someone else to pick up,” she admonished.

“Oh, right, I suppose not.”

She beamed at him…finally learning!  She picked up the blanket and bundled it under her arm.  Sherlock held out his hand to help her off the ground.  He led the way to a modest three storey late Georgian period house.  Molly imagined it was a bit like the Bennets might have had in Pride & Prejudice and voiced this opinion.

“Maybe a little fancier.  We’re not the original owners – my great-grandfather bought it after doing well in the intelligence services under Queen Victoria.”

“So it runs in the family then?”

“Indeed.  There was an uproar when I said I wasn’t going into the family business.  Daddy didn’t speak to me for weeks.”

Molly sniggered.  She’d never get used to Sherlock and Mycroft’s manner of addressing their parents publically.

“So would you like to see inside?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you think you could bear to live in so large a house?” he asked – too cavalierly.

Molly whirled around.

“What?”

“Oh didn’t I tell you?  It’s my house – well, it will be.  Mycroft doesn’t want it.  And since you live with me...obviously, we’d have a place in London too but I quite fancy the idea of living here with you, when we’re old.  I’ll keep bees,” he trailed off as he noticed Molly was standing stock still about 5 metres behind him.  “Molly?”

She was lost in a world of wonder.  Was this the future she wanted?  She’d imagined a life with Sherlock – of course – but this was a step up.  Sherlock shook her back to reality.

“Molly, nothing has to be decided, ever.  I just want you, and if that meant living above a chip shop in Brighton, I’d probably do it!”

She smiled at the “probably”.  Oh he was exactly what she wanted.

“Come on then, show me the house.”

“Excellent.  Wait til you see what I’ve planned for later.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be several chapters. If you think of anything fun for Molly to be better at, do let me know.


End file.
